


don't hold this war inside

by castielofasgard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bad Coping Methods, Basically everything is miserable, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Questionable mental stability, Revenge, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielofasgard/pseuds/castielofasgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dangerous solo mission into a Hydra base leads to Pietro's capture. After months in their hands, the Avengers finally rescue him. But not without consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stay put and play along

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to give a big thank you to my friend on fanfiction.net, Avengerslover624, for giving me the idea for this fic and for helping me workshop several sections. :)
> 
> The title of this fic is a lyric from "Come Back When You Can" by Barcelona  
> The title for chapter one is from "Tonight" by Lykke Li

“So, Fury just sent us a rather tricky mission,” Steve said.

The Avengers had all received the summons and were now seated around the table. Steve was standing, holding a tablet that had all the information on their latest assignment. 

“Hydra’s got this bunker out in the Canadian wilderness, nearly impregnable,” he continued, swiping a blueprint of the bunker into the air in front of them with a flick of his wrist. “And they’ve got something we need.”

“What is it?” Wanda asked.

“A box. We don’t know what’s inside, but given the lengths they’ve taken to keep it out of our hands, it’s definitely something they shouldn’t have. It’s not very big, but Fury thinks it’s potentially dangerous, and so do I.”

“Let me guess. We’re gonna steal it,” said Pietro.

“Exactly,” Steve replied.

“Well, that’ll be easy,” Pietro said.

“How the hell is that easy?” said Clint. “Steve literally just said this place is practically impossible to break into.”

“For a normal person, yes.”

“Since when is anyone here normal?”

“Not the point,” said Pietro. “What I mean is, we don’t even need a team for this. It’s a straight shot from the entrance to the lab. I can just run in there, grab the damn thing, and run back out. Easy.”

“I dunno. I don’t like it,” said Clint.

“Why not?”

“What if something happens to you?”

“Nothing will happen to me, Clint,” said Pietro. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

“You’re not as fast as you think you are,” Clint said. “Or did you forget that you took eight bullets for me less than two weeks after we met?”

“Of course I didn’t forget. But this is different,” said Pietro. “They won’t even realize I’m there. I’ve stolen a lot more things than I care to admit, but that’s because I’m good at it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Clint sighed heavily.

“It’s your call, Cap. You’re the boss,” he said.

“You sure about this, Pietro?” said Steve. “It’ll be dangerous.”

“Dangerous is our job,” Pietro shrugged.

“Okay. It’s your mission. But we’ll be there for backup,” Steve said.

“But–” Clint began.

Steve gave him a look.

“Fine,” Clint said. “But if you get one scratch on you, I swear to God...”

“Not a scratch on me,” said Pietro. “I promise.”

 

***

 

Okay, so maybe Pietro was a bit more nervous for this than he was letting on. All the things he’d stolen before joining the Avengers... those had been just little things, food and clothes and a few little gifts for Wanda. Stealing a highly guarded object from a secure secret base, though? That was a bit harder than robbing a department store. The Avengers were staked out about a mile away from the base. It was nearly time. 

“You sure about this?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, of course,” said Pietro, putting on a smile to hide his nerves.

“We’ve still got time to come up with a backup plan.”

“Would you shut up? I’ll be fine,” Pietro said impatiently.

He took Clint’s face in his hands and gave him a kiss. Then he turned to the others.

“If I’m not back in five minutes, send a search party,” he said.

Then he was off.

 

He made it to the bunker without a hitch, pausing for a few seconds to catch his breath before dashing off again. Getting inside was a little trickier, because he had to time it just right, but he snuck in behind a guard, then ran down to corridor. Pretty soon, he could see the blast doors to the lab where the box was being kept. He had been assured these doors would be open, that they were always open unless there was an emergency, and indeed they were. And then he was inside, and there it was, just sitting on a table like the most innocent thing in the world. Pietro smirked and jogged forward. He had just picked up the box when an alarm went off, blaring deafeningly through the base. Pietro froze in panic – the blast doors were crawling shut.

“Shit!” 

He burst into motion, running at top speed for the exit. But not fast enough. He crashed into the blast doors and fell backwards, scrambling back to his feet in a daze. Several men were closing in now, guns raised and ready to fire. 

“Drop the box,” one of them ordered.

As if. Pietro wasn’t going to give up that easily. He wasn’t going down, and he especially wasn’t going down without a fight. Or that’s what he thought. He suddenly felt a sharp sting on his neck and a second later, his vision went blurry. His head was swimming and his grip on the box was slipping and then everything went black.


	2. the ringing in my ears gets violent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter two is from "Jet Pack Blues" by Fall Out Boy

“It’s been five minutes,” said Clint, pacing impatiently.

“Just give him a moment, I swear you’re more impatient than he is,” Wanda said.

“Your brother has gone solo into an enemy base, and now he’s late for the rendezvous. How are you okay with this?” Clint said.

“Look, I’m as worried as you are, I just –” 

Wanda trailed off, staring at something none of them could see.

“Is something wrong?” Natasha asked.

“It’s Pietro...” said Wanda.

“Shit,” Clint said, already running in the direction of the bunker; Wanda was right on his heels.

“Clint, Wanda! Wait!” Steve shouted after them.

But neither of them did. They didn’t stop running until they reached the bunker. The rest of the Avengers were right behind them. As they came to a stop outside the base, a quinjet took off. 

“Pietro’s on that plane,” Wanda said.

“No no no, he can’t be,” Clint said frantically.

“He is. I can feel it.”

“Well then we have to bring it down!”

Clint drew an arrow and aimed it at the quickly retreating jet. 

“Clint, no!” Natasha cried, grabbing his arm.

“We have to stop them, they have Pietro!” said Clint.

“If you shoot the plane down, you’ll just kill him,” said Natasha.

Clint lowered his bow. The jet was too far away for him to hit now anyway.

“How are we gonna find him?” he said.

“Wanda can sense him, remember?” Natasha replied.

“No I can’t,” said Wanda quietly. “He’s gone, I can’t feel him anymore.”

“He’s not dead...?” Clint asked.

“No, that I would know. I don’t know what happened,” said Wanda. “He’s just... gone.”

 

***

 

Pietro awoke to find himself in a glass cell, not unlike the one Hydra had kept him in when he and Wanda had signed up for their experiments. He sat up and immediately knew that something was wrong. He felt all messed up, lethargic and weak, but still with that buzzing energy burning in his core like it did every time he stayed still for too long. And there was something around his neck, something heavy and cold... He reached up to touch it and found a metal collar, sleek but strong. He didn’t need telling to know what this thing was for. He was smart enough to put two and two together, and apart from that, he just _felt_ it. Somehow, this collar was able to hold back his powers. If he tried to run away, he’d be just as slow as anyone else, and probably ten times less coordinated, considering how accustomed he now was to his usual speed.

Just then, the door to his cell opened and two men came in and pulled him to his feet. Pietro didn’t bother struggling, it wasn’t worth it, not yet. He knew how this game went. He’d played it before. They led him out to a room that seemed to be part lab part torture chamber, neither of which was particularly comforting, and took him over to a wall that was fitted with chains. Okay, not good. They stripped off his shirt and locked his wrists into manacles that hung above his head. He’d be forced to stand, facing this wall, hanging by his wrists even if his legs gave out beneath him. 

Pietro chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw a burly man step forward with a whip in his hand. Ah, so that’s what they had in store for him. He’d withstood much worse than a lashing before. This wouldn’t be so bad. Of course, it crossed his mind that this was just the beginning, that they were starting out easy, that whatever else they had planned was probably infinitely worse. But he couldn’t let himself think like that, not if he didn’t want them to break him. Wanda and Clint and the rest of the Avengers would save him before that could happen.

The first lash fell, ripping through the exposed skin. Pietro inhaled sharply, wincing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man raising his arm for the next stroke. This time, he’d be ready. He gritted his teeth, bracing himself, as the second lash tore across his back. Then a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. And then they were unchaining him and leading him back to his cell. Only five lashes? Pietro would call that pathetic if his back weren’t burning so badly. 

He’d barely had an hour to recover before they came back for him. Still, he didn’t struggle, knowing that it would only make things worse for him if he did. Besides, he wouldn’t make it very far with this damn collar on. They took him back to the torture-chamber-lab, but this time they forced him down onto a table and strapped down his hands and feet. Pietro’s heart jolted in dread. This was way too familiar, and he knew that whatever came next was going to be extremely unpleasant.

A man came over and picked up a syringe, examining it briefly before jabbing the needle into Pietro’s arm. He hardly gave the first dose time to kick in before picking up a second syringe and injecting more. Pietro’s head was already spinning, but the man gave him yet another dose. Whatever kind of drugs they had just given him, they were strong. Pietro’s veins were on fire with them, and his senses were warped and confused. He had no idea what else the man and his colleagues were doing to him – they had pumped him so full of drugs that all he could feel was the pain. And oh God, was there a lot of pain. He may have been screaming from it, but he couldn’t tell, and if he was struggling, he couldn’t tell that either. Just pain. Pain. _Pain. Pain. Pain._

_Pain._

_Pain._

_Pain....._


	3. with every passing day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter three is from "The Light Behind Your Eyes" by My Chemical Romance

 

One week of fruitlessly searching, finding nothing but dead ends and empty Hydra bases. One week of leaving Pietro abandoned in their enemy’s hands. Clint could barely stand it. Wanda had been trying to track him down, to reach out to him, but something had broken the connection between the twins. It was exhausting her, Clint could see it. She looked pale and tired, but she kept stubbornly trying, no matter how obvious it was that this wasn’t going to work.

“Wanda, you’ve got to stop,” Clint told her at last.

“I can’t. We have to find him,” said Wanda.

“Your connection with him is broken, or being interfered with, or something. You know it is,” said Clint. “You’re exhausting yourself. We’ll find Pietro, but not like that. You’re not gonna be much good at rescuing him if you’ve worn yourself out beforehand.”

Wanda sighed.

“I know. I just... if I don’t keep trying, I’ll feel like I’m giving up on him.”

“You won’t be, I promise,” said Clint, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’re gonna keep looking for him, no matter how long it takes. I don’t care if we’re searching for a hundred years. We will _never_ give up on him.”

 

***

 

One week. One week enduring their torture, being drugged and beaten and Lord knows what else they did to him when he was out of it. Pietro could stick it out, he knew he could, until his friends came to save him. But where the hell were they? It had been a week, but there was no sign of the Avengers, not even a hint that they were coming for him. But they had to be. Even if the rest of the team had given him up for dead, he knew that Wanda and Clint wouldn’t let him go that easily. They wouldn’t abandon him. They couldn’t.

But still. A whole week had gone by, and as much as Pietro wanted to believe he could hold up until his friends rescued him, he really wasn’t sure how much more of Hydra’s torture he could actually handle. Maybe it was time he stopped waiting around to be saved. Maybe he needed to just save himself. He would be risking a lot, since he couldn’t run like he used to, but if they recaptured him, what was the worst they could do? They were already torturing him. 

When they came for him again, Pietro went quietly as he always did. But when they got him to the lab, he knew it was now or never. He took a deep breath. It was time. Before either of his escorts could have time to register what was happening, Pietro yanked his arms free of their grasp and turned to punch them both in the face. They both staggered backward, and Pietro made a dash for it. _Holy shit_ , he did not remember being this slow before his powers. Still, he ran as fast as he could, the exit from this living hell in his sights. He reached the door and slammed into it, but it didn’t open. He desperately rattled the handle, but still nothing. It was locked. 

“Dammit...”

He glanced over his shoulder just as his tormenters reached him. They grabbed him and dragged him back to the table, kicking and screaming.

“Let go of me!” Pietro shouted. “Let me go, you bastards!”

They slammed him onto the table and strapped down his hands and feet.

“Just you wait, the Avengers will come for me,” Pietro spat. “Then you’ll be sorry you ever hurt me. You’ll see.”

“You keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better,” one of the men said.

“You don’t believe me, but they’ll come,” said Pietro.

“They’ll never find you here,” the other man said. “You’re ours now. And I think it’s time we claim our property.”

He walked away, out of Pietro’s line of sight, and returned with a red-hot brand, the symbol of Hydra glowing orange and menacing. Pietro’s breath caught in his chest and his heart started beating frantically.

“No. Please no, don’t...” he said, trembling.

The other man stepped forward and held down Pietro’s left arm. The man with the iron came toward him now. Pietro tried to struggle, but it was no use. The man pressed the brand onto Pietro’s forearm, searing Hydra’s symbol into his skin.

 

***

 

“Nothing. Still nothing. Three _fucking_ weeks, and everything we’ve tried comes up with the same damn thing. Nothing!”

Clint kicked over his chair and stormed across the room. He could feel the eyes of the rest of the team watching him, but he ignored them. Pietro was trapped God knows where, and Hydra was doing God knows what to him, and they were all just sitting around at home scraping the bottle of the barrel for leads. For all they knew, Pietro could be dead, and if he wasn’t, he sure as hell would believe that they had abandoned him. Clint couldn’t blame him if he did believe that. It had been nearly a month, what else was he supposed to think?

“We’re gonna keep trying, Clint,” Steve said. “We’re gonna find him.”

“Yeah, and what exactly will we find by then?” said Clint bitterly. “His broken body?”

“He’s not dead,” said Wanda. “He can’t be, I would know.”

“The connection is broken, Wanda, how could you possibly know?” Clint said, whipping around to face her. “He could have been dead this entire time and we would have absolutely no idea. All of this could be for nothing.”

“What, you’re giving up?” said Tony incredulously.

“ _Never_!” Clint was angry now. “How _dare_ you even _think_ I would give up on him? I’ll keep searching if I have to storm every single Hydra base on the planet by myself!”

He was standing over Tony now, trembling with emotion. He hadn’t even realized he’d crossed the room. Tony was staring up at him, looking something between scared and sad, like a dog that had been kicked a few too many times. Natasha stood up and placed a gentle hand on Clint’s arm.

“Clint, it’s okay,” she said soothingly. “He didn’t mean that.”

“Oh God...” Clint murmured, his anger melting away to be replaced by guilt and shame. “I’m sorry... I didn’t... I just...”

He turned and rushed from the room, not stopping until he’d reached his own bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

 

***

 

Hydra’s tortures had escalated since Pietro’s escape attempt. They had done every horrible thing to him he could imagine and more. They drugged him so much and so often that everything had become a big painful blur, constantly fluctuating between sharp awareness and swirling confusion, one long nightmare that wouldn’t end whether he was awake or asleep. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been there anymore. He had a vague notion that it might have been a month, but time had become so warped that he really couldn’t know for sure.

But still he hadn’t given up that one tiny shred of hope he had left that his friends would save him. They were _trying_ , he had to keep telling himself that. There was no way they would let him suffer. Especially not Wanda and Clint. Even if the others gave up, those two would surely keep fighting to get to him. They had to. Pietro _had_ to believe it. If he didn’t believe it, he would lose what little of himself he had left. If he let go of that last speck of hope, he would die.


	4. broken so bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter four is from "First" by Cold War Kids

Two and a half months. 

Ten weeks.

Seventy days.

One thousand six hundred and eighty hours.

And counting.

Nothing.

Not even dead ends anymore. Just nothing. But Clint refused to lose hope. Pietro was out there, and they would find him. Even if all that was left was a body to bury. Because then at least Clint would know, and he wouldn’t have to go on hoping, he could just grieve. But until that happened, he would keep looking and keep hoping.

 

It was a quiet evening. The Avengers were all just sitting around in the living room, noses buried in computers and tablets and files, hunting, searching for any clue. Just as they had been every night for the last two months. 

“Oh my god,” said Sam suddenly.

Clint looked up from his laptop, heart surging anxiously, not daring to get his hopes up.

“What is it?” Wanda asked; Clint could hear his own anxiety echoed in her voice.

“I found him,” Sam said. “I can’t believe it. I found him.”

Clint felt both like he was flying and like he might throw up.

“Is he alive?” he asked nervously.

“I’d say so. You wouldn’t lock a dead body in a cell, would you?” said Sam.

“Have you got the coordinates?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, got ‘em right here.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

“Whoa, slow down, Barton,” said Tony. “He’s being held in a secure Hydra base, shouldn’t we have an attack plan?”

“We can plan on the way,” said Clint. “Pietro’s been locked up in there for over two months, Stark. I’m not leaving him there any longer.”

 

***

 

Pietro had lost all track of time. He had no idea how long he had suffered at Hydra’s hands, only that it had been too long. They were never coming for him. They had left him, abandoned him, given him up for dead. Even Wanda and Clint had given up on him. He would be trapped here until he died. It wouldn’t be long now, at least. He knew he couldn’t hold up much longer. It was only a matter of days until his heart finally gave out and he stopped breathing. 

Hydra had broken him in every way imaginable. His body was weak from pain and torment, he was covered in blood and grime, scars and open wounds marring his pale skin. They had him in a near constant drugged haze now, and the only thing he was sure about what the pain when they tortured him. The collar around his neck had wreaked havoc on him, not just physically but mentally as well. Having his powers suppressed like that for so long, all that energy burning up inside him with nowhere to go, it wore him down to almost nothing. He felt sick and feverish, and every thought that slipped through his drug-addled mind was fractured and warped.  

The only clear thought that he had was that he had been abandoned. The Avengers had left him and they were never coming back. 

He was alone.


	5. let me be the one to save you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter five is from "Bulletproof Heart" by My Chemical Romance

 

The quinjet touched down not far from the Hydra base and they disembarked, splitting off their separate ways as planned. Clint’s heart pounded nervously as he and Natasha slunk quietly through the back entrance and toward the cell block. As relieved as he was that they were finally rescuing Pietro, he was more than a little afraid of what he would find that cell. The information Sam had dug up on the base hardly gave them a clue of what kind of things happened here, except that the place seemed to be primarily used for housing prisoners, and that Pietro was the only person being held there. Still, Clint was fairly certain that they hadn’t just kept Pietro locked up in a cell for over two months, but exactly how much they had tortured and tormented him... well, that was what he was afraid of.

They reached the cell block at last and crept along the corridor, peering at the faded numbers on the doors. 

“Aha, here it is. Cell fifty-seven,” said Natasha.

Clint paused, staring at the door. Just beyond it was Pietro, waiting for him to come bursting in and save the day. So what was he waiting for? Well... it had been two and a half months. Would Pietro even be waiting anymore? Or would he have just given up hope?

“Go on, Clint,” Natasha prompted. “I’ll keep watch.”

Clint nodded and picked the lock, then let the door swing open. He stepped into the cell and felt his heart sink straight to his stomach. Pietro was lying in the corner, curled up in a ball, his clothes in tatters and spattered with blood. Clint rushed to his side and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The sudden contact made Pietro jump and he looked up at Clint in disbelief. He didn’t say a word, but Clint could almost hear the thought going through his head...

_You came back for me?_

“Hey baby, it’s me,” Clint said softly. “What d’you say I take you home, okay?”

Pietro still didn’t answer, and Clint could tell from the glassy, barely focused look in his eyes that those bastards had him pretty drugged up. They couldn’t afford to sit around much longer, so Clint leaned forward and scooped Pietro up in his arms. Pietro put his arm around Clint’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder, taking a deep but shaky breath; after weeks of God knows what kind of torture he’d been through, now he was home in Clint’s arms. Clint placed a fleeting kiss on Pietro’s forehead and carried him out of the cell.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Natasha was waiting for him just outside the door.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Not so hot,” said Clint. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Natasha led the way onward, ready to cover him if they ran into trouble. Clint followed her, hardly paying attention to where he was going because he kept checking on Pietro every three seconds. Pietro just lay there in Clint’s arms, his eyes closed, looking heartbreakingly scared and in pain. Clint wanted nothing more than to be back on the quinjet already so Pietro could be safe. It seemed to take an age for them to finally get outside, and once they did, Natasha had to fight a path for them to the jet. The Avengers had managed to draw Hydra away from the cell block, but not without a fight. They were nearly there when they ran into Steve.

“Good, you found him. Let’s round everybody up,” he said. “Do you want me to take him inside?”

Clint felt Pietro tense up in his arms at the suggestion. He could take a hint.

“No, I’ve got him,” he said.

 He walked up the ramp onto the jet, then gently laid Pietro on one of the bench seats and knelt down next to him, brushing a strand of white-blond hair out of his face. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the metal collar around Pietro’s neck and his stomach twisted unpleasantly. He felt around the edge of the collar for some sign of a lock he could pick, but couldn’t find one. Pietro just watched him blearily, still too drugged to react much. 

“Nat?” Clint said desperately. “Have you got something that can get this damn thing off him?”

There was a lump in his throat now, but he couldn’t let himself cry, not when Pietro needed him. Natasha was at his side in a heartbeat, inspecting the collar. 

“What the hell is this thing?” she muttered.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Clint. “It’s their sick way of trying to say they own him or something...”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s doing something to him, I just can’t figure out what.”

Natasha took out a device from her belt and Pietro immediately recoiled.

“No no, it’s okay, I’m just gonna take the collar off,” said Natasha quickly.

Pietro still looked frightened, so Clint took his hand.

“It’s okay, Pietro, I promise,” he said. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. I won’t let them.”

Pietro relaxed a little and Natasha set to work. The device had some sort of laser, but it didn’t seem to be strong enough to cut through the metal of the collar.

“Dammit,” she said. “I think we’re gonna need Stark for this, it’s too strong.”

Just then, the rest of the Avengers rushed onto the jet.

“Stark, get us in the air now,” Steve ordered, slamming the button to raise the ramp.

As the plane took off, Wanda hurried over to Pietro’s side.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Bad. They put this collar on him, it’s doing something to him...” said Natasha.

Wanda examined the collar, a horrified look in her eyes as she did so.

“It’s stopping his powers,” she said quietly. “Disrupting them somehow so he can’t run away.”

Clint felt even sicker now than he had before. He knew how hard it was on Pietro to have to stay still for long, how all that built up energy burned inside him. The collar was probably forcing that energy down, bottling it up; having to wear that thing would be torture enough even without whatever else they had done.

“We’ve gotta get that thing off him,” he said in a choked voice.

Natasha stood up and went over to Tony, returned a moment later with him in tow. Tony knelt down and inspected the collar, frowning in disgust.

“I think I’ve got something that’ll do the trick,” he said, standing up.

He went off and started rummaging through one of the various toolboxes he kept stored on the jet, then returned with something not unlike the laser device Natasha had used.

“Nat already tried that,” Clint said.

“This one’s a bit more powerful,” said Tony. 

Clint held Pietro’s hand a little tighter as Tony set to work on the collar. It took several minutes, but finally, the laser broke through and the collar fell from Pietro’s neck. The moment Pietro was free, he bolted across the jet. He skidded to a halt against the opposite wall, trembling from head to toe and looking terrified. After a moment, he took a few tentative steps back toward the others, then lost control again and flew the rest of the way across the room. As he came to a stop, he stumbled and fell. Clint caught him and helped him back onto the bench, laying him down again.

“This happened when we first got our powers,” said Wanda. “He can’t control how fast he’s going.”

“How long should it last?” Clint asked.

“It took a few days the first time. But I doubt it will take as long now. He just has to readjust,” said Wanda.

Clint took Pietro’s hand in his, stroking his hair with his other hand. Pietro was still shaking, his breathing labored, but he seemed to be a bit more relaxed now that the collar was off. He closed his eyes as Clint gently ran his hand through his hair, his fingers catching in the tangles and knots brought on by weeks of neglect. Clint looked over at Wanda, who was watching her brother with a sad look on her face. He could tell that she was thinking the same thing he was: this was going to be a long and painful road.


	6. the things i've learned from a broken mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter six is from "Cecilia and the Satellite" by Andrew McMann and the Wilderness

The feel of Clint’s hand holding his, of Clint’s fingers in his hair... it was so familiar yet so foreign. It had been so long since anyone had touched him without hurting him, he had all but forgotten what tenderness felt like. He was still drugged and in pain and frightened, but Clint’s gentle touches and Wanda’s steadfast presence brought him comfort. They had come for him. They had gotten him out. Soon he would be safe at home where Hydra couldn’t torment him any longer. 

They finally landed at Avengers Tower and Pietro leaned against Clint as he let himself be led off the jet and down the corridor. Clint pushed open a door and led him into the infirmary. They had barely made it over the threshold when Pietro stopped in his tracks, digging in his heels. 

“Pietro, what’s wrong?” Clint asked, looking at him with concern.

The hospital bed, the medical tools, all of the machines and tubes and needles... Pietro shook his head frantically, inching backward toward the door.

“Oh,” said Clint.

Thank God, he understood. Clint scooped up one of the portable medical kits they brought on missions and took Pietro’s arm.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll fix you up myself.”

Pietro relaxed a little and let Clint lead him away again, this time to their bedroom. They sat down on the bed and Clint opened up the medical kit. Pietro sat quietly as Clint cleaned the cuts on his face, wincing occasionally when one would sting. When he had finished, Clint hesitated for a moment.

“Can you... is it okay if you take off your shirt? So I can take care of... the rest of it?” he asked.

Pietro pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor, revealing just how extensive the damage Hydra had done to him was. Clint stared and Pietro thought he saw tears in his eyes.

“God, look what they’ve done to you,” he breathed.

Pietro just sat there, silent as ever. Clint picked up the medical kit again and set to work cleaning the rest of Pietro’s wounds. When he came across the brand on his forearm, he stopped again, looking like he was trying hard to fight back the urge to vomit. Clint brushed his thumb over the raised scar and Pietro found himself forcing back tears. He may have escaped Hydra’s clutches, but they had still left this mark on him, still claimed him as theirs. Clint took a deep breath and finished cleaning Pietro’s injuries.

“I bet you’d probably like a shower,” he said.

Pietro nodded.

“Okay. I’ll be in here if you need anything, okay?”

Pietro nodded again and got up. He glanced back at Clint, then went into the bathroom and closed the door. As he finished undressing, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He hadn’t seen his reflection since before he’d been captured, and he hardly recognized the man staring back at him. He was extremely thin, his ribs clearly visible. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were sunken and dull and still a bit glassy from all of the drugs. His hair was a tangled, matted mess and his entire body was covered with blood and filth. He badly needed a shave but he didn’t trust himself with a razor, not with his hands as unsteady as they were now. He looked pale and skeletal, almost like a corpse. Feeling sick, Pietro tore his eyes away from the mirror and turned on the shower. 

Several minutes later, he reemerged with a towel around his waist, feeling clean but no less miserable. Clint was sitting on the bed, waiting for him.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

Pietro shrugged and opened his dresser. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and put them on, then sat down on the bed next to Clint. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Clint spoke again. 

“Do you want to try and get some sleep? It’s late and you’re probably exhausted... God, have you even gotten to sleep properly... Well, anyway...” he trailed off.

Pietro looked at him, unable to answer. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, not yet, not when he was still scared of the sound of his own voice. So instead, he slowly reached out, hesitating a moment before taking Clint’s hand. They both looked down at their hands, one strong and healthy, the other pale and covered in cuts and bruises. Clint lifted Pietro’s hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on his fingers.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some rest.”

 

***

 

He had dreamed that his friends had come for him, that Clint had taken him from his cell and carried him in his arms like a child, that he was safe at home and Hydra couldn’t hurt him anymore. But now he needed to wake up and face the truth. He knew he had to. But he felt so warm and comfortable in his dream, so safe with Clint’s familiar presence by his side...

Pietro opened his eyes and found himself not in his cell, but in his bedroom, lying in his bed that felt like a cloud now after so long sleeping on concrete floors. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been real. The Avengers had rescued him, brought him home. Clint lay beside him, still fast asleep, snoring quietly. It was a strangely comforting sound, one Pietro hadn’t even known he’d missed. He stayed there for a little while, just watching Clint sleep, then he sat up. Suddenly, he realized just how hungry he was. Hydra had only fed him enough to keep him alive, and now he was famished. He looked over at Clint. Normally he would have woken him up, probably by jumping gracelessly into his lap, but he couldn’t do that now. That energetic, careless version of Pietro was gone, and now he didn’t even have the guts to wake up his boyfriend for breakfast. So he hugged his knees to his chest and waited.

It was nearly an hour before Clint finally woke up. He rolled over and noticed Pietro sitting there, then sat up.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked.

Pietro just held up seven fingers.

“Since seven? Shit, why didn’t you wake me up?”

Pietro bit his lip and shrugged.

“You hungry?” 

Pietro nodded. 

“Figured. Come on, let’s go get you something to eat.”

Clint got up and pulled on some sweatpants, then took Pietro’s hand and led him off to the kitchen. Wanda and Natasha were sitting at the table when they arrived, talking quietly, their empty breakfast dishes sitting abandoned in front of them. Clint pulled out a chair and Pietro sat down.

“What do you want me to make you?” Clint asked, then, remembering Pietro’s current muteness, added, “Ummm... toast?”

Pietro nodded and Clint went off to make his food. 

“How are you feeling?” Wanda asked, turning to Pietro.

Pietro shrugged. It was the closest thing to an answer that he could come up with for that question, and he knew he’d be asked it a lot. Wanda gave him a little half-smile that Pietro wished he could return. He felt a little more whole, more like himself, now that the collar was off and his and Wanda’s connection had reestablished. It had felt like a part of him had been carved out without her there, a constant little presence in the corner of his mind. Now that he had that back, he felt just the slightest bit less broken.

Clint returned with a plate of toast, all smothered in Pietro’s favorite blackberry jam, then sat down next to him with a bowl of cereal for himself. Pietro started eating, forcing himself to go slow despite how hungry he was and how good it tasted. But he had never been good at taking things slow, so of course he finished his breakfast considerably faster than he should have. 

Once they had both finished eating, Pietro took Clint back to their room and into the bathroom and pressed a razor into his hands.

“You want me to help you shave?” Clint confirmed.

Pietro nodded. He was tired of not feeling like himself and this ungroomed facial hair wasn’t helping.

“Okay. I’ll try not to nick you by accident.”

Pietro sat on the toilet seat with one foot tucked up underneath his thigh, trying to hold as still as possible while Clint carefully shaved away the unwanted hair. When he was finally finished, Pietro looked at himself in the mirror. He still had those dark circles under his eyes and he still looked pale and sick, but now at least he looked a little more like himself. He turned to Clint, wishing he could thank him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak. So instead he wrapped his arms around him, hesitating ever so slightly before tightening the embrace. Clint returned the hug, holding him close in those strong, familiar arms that felt achingly like home.


	7. i would take credit for what's wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter seven is from "Nothing Without Love" by Nate Ruess

 

The second night turned out to be a rough one. Pietro had seemed okay all day, though he still hadn’t uttered a syllable, and Clint thought that maybe he’d recover smoother than expected. 

But then he woke up in the middle of the night to find Pietro sobbing uncontrollably, curled up in a ball. It took several minutes before he allowed Clint to touch him, and when he finally did, he just clung to him and buried his face in his chest, whimpering as though in pain. He didn’t calm down until morning, meaning Clint was up most of the night, holding him and stroking his hair, trying to reassure him that he was safe.

Morning finally came, and Pietro’s sudden silence worried Clint almost more than the crying had. He extricated himself from Pietro’s arms and sat up. Pietro didn’t react; he just sat there staring at nothing, his eyes still red from crying.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Clint whispered gently, not wanting to startle him. “You okay now?”

Pietro didn’t answer, not even to shrug or shake his head. He just kept staring, and he looked absolutely miserable. Clint didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he said.

Pietro still didn’t answer. Clint got up and slipped on some sweatpants, then stepped into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him. He walked down the hall until he came to Wanda’s room, then knocked on the door. He waited for a little while, then the door opened and Wanda poked her head out. She had clearly only just gotten up; her hair was tied back in a messy braid and she was still in her pajamas.

“Clint? Is everything okay?” she said, stifling a yawn.

“No, it’s not at all okay, and I don’t know what to do,” said Clint. 

Wanda opened her door the rest of the way and stood back to let him in. Clint stepped into the room and looked around. He had never been in Wanda’s room before. He’d never had a reason to. It was scrupulously neat, except for the unmade bed, and she had decorated with curtains and tapestries and strings of twinkle lights. There were a few pictures on the shelves, most of which were new, but there was one slightly battered little picture in a very nice frame that was of her and Pietro as children, standing together with their parents. Clint looked away from the picture and turned to Wanda.

“I’ve been up half the night with Pietro, he had a nightmare or something and went into hysterics,” said Clint. “He only calmed down a little bit ago, but now he’s just sitting there staring off into space. He won’t react to anything, it’s like I’m not even there. I don’t know what to do. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.”

Wanda listened with tears in her eyes.

“I know you came to me for help because I’m his sister, but I don’t know what to do either,” she said sadly. “I’m just as helpless as you. He’s never been like this, not even after our parents died or after the experiments. He’s always been able to bounce back the same, if a little more cynical. Whatever they did to him...”

“It must have really torn him up,” Clint finished. He sighed heavily. “Okay... I’m sorry I woke you up, I just...”

“Don’t apologize,” said Wanda. “Pietro’s my brother and I want to help him. It’s my job to help him. But this time... I don’t know how.”

 

***

 

The rest of the day didn’t get any easier. Pietro refused to move from his seat on the bed, ignored or didn’t register every attempt Clint or Wanda made at getting his attention, and just continued to stare blankly into the middle-distance looking utterly destroyed. Clint wasn’t comfortable leaving him alone, but staying in the room with him for too long just made him depressed. So he’d sit on a chair in the corner, just watching over Pietro for a while, then leave Wanda with him while he went to the training center to shoot a few rounds or beat up a punching bag or just let himself rage. It wasn’t fair what had happened, it wasn’t fair that his lively, passionate Pietro had been worn down to this silent wreck of a man. It just wasn’t fair.

 

Clint wandered back down the hallway, his heart still pounding from his most recent tantrum. The door to his room opened and Wanda stepped out; apparently she had sensed him coming.

“Are you okay?” she asked as he approached.

“Yeah, just a little worked up is all...” said Clint. “How is he doing?”

“Mostly the same,” said Wanda. “He’s stopped staring at the wall, but he still hasn’t moved or said anything.”

Clint sighed.

“I’ll take over for the rest of the night. You get some rest, go hang out with the others or something.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Go relax. I’ll call if I need you.”

Wanda took his hand and gave it a squeeze, then walked away. Clint sighed again and braced himself, then opened the door. He walked into the room to find Pietro still sitting on the bed, staring down at his hands now instead of the wall. Clint stood for a moment in the doorway, watching him sadly, wishing there was some way he could help.

“Why didn’t you come for me sooner?” Pietro said suddenly.

Clint froze. That was the first time Pietro had spoken since they rescued him, and he had hardly expected it now. His voice was hoarse, and Clint could pretend it was from lack of use but it was pointless to try and fool himself – he was no stranger to the sound of a voice broken from screaming. Hearing that wrecked sound coming from the man he loved shattered his heart. He walked forward and sat on the bed in front of Pietro.

“I wanted to come sooner,” he said. “I tried. God, I tried. We just didn’t know where you were.”

“You should’ve tried harder,” said Pietro, the slightest tinge of bitterness in his tone. “Maybe then you could have saved me.”

Clint bit his lip, fighting back tears as he stared at Pietro’s slouched form. He thought he understood what Pietro meant. They hadn’t saved him. They had been too late for that. All they’d done was salvage the broken remains.

“I’m sorry,” Clint murmured; dammit, he was crying now, he _never_ cried. “Pietro, I’m so sorry. You’re right. We should’ve tried harder. _I_ should have tried harder. God, Pietro, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” said Pietro, standing up.

Clint looked up as Pietro disappeared into the bathroom without another word. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and tried to compose himself, then went down the hall and knocked on Wanda’s door. There was no answer, so he went off to the living room, where he found her sitting around with the other Avengers. Oh great, just what he needed. An audience for his impending breakdown. He shuffled over to the liqueur cabinet, picked up an entire bottle of whiskey, screwed off the cap, and took a swig. 

“Well, he started talking again,” he announced.

“You don’t sound very happy about it,” said Steve.

“He blames me for what happened to him,” said Clint, wandering over to the sofa and sitting down. “Said I should’ve tried harder to find him. That maybe then we could’ve saved him.”

“But we _did_ save him,” Tony said.

“No we didn’t,” said Clint. “You haven’t seen him. Not _really_. We may have gotten him out of that place, but we sure as hell didn’t save him. We were too late for that.”

He took another drink of whiskey, trying to cover up the fact that tears were once again streaming down his face.

“It’s not your fault, Clint,” said Natasha. “We tried as hard as we could.”

“It _is_ , though. He’s right. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve scoured the planet trying to find him. But instead I sat here and sulked and stared at a screen while he was stuck in that _hell_ being tortured.” Clint took a shuddering breath, no longer bothering to hide his tears. “God, I abandoned him. I just left him there and let them hurt him.”

He felt a gentle hand on his back and was vaguely aware of Wanda at his side, putting her arm around him to comfort him even though she was crying too. She took the whiskey bottle from him and set it on the floor, and Clint curled in on himself, burying his face in his hands.

“It’s my fault,” he sobbed. “Oh God, it’s my fault.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, so I'll be on vacation from Sept. 12 to the 18th, so unless I manage to write another chapter tomorrow, there won't be an update until I get back. sorry and thanks for understanding :)


	8. you never could control me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter eight is from "Far Too Young To Die" by Panic! At the Disco

Pietro could barely make sense of his behavior. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what had happened most of the day. He remembered the nightmare and Clint comforting him until morning. But then the rest was a blur. Less than a blur. He’d gotten so lost in his own head that one moment it had been morning and the next, the sun was setting again and he was sitting in the exact same place. Somehow, he had skipped an entire day. And even when he had woken from his trance or whatever it was, he still wasn’t entirely present. 

As he lay alone in bed, the room dark around him, he couldn’t help thinking of what he had said to Clint. The words ran through his head over and over, and he didn’t know what to make of it. All those bitter words had been there inside him for weeks, and all it had taken was a lapse of lucidity for them to spill out. Pietro would never have said those things to Clint normally, he wouldn’t dream of hurting him like that. Yeah, he would probably think them occasionally on particularly bad days, but saying it out loud? Telling Clint to his face that deep down, Pietro sort of blamed him for what had happened, resented how long it had taken for Clint to find him? That was too cruel. And yet he had done it anyway. 

The bedroom door opened and Pietro saw Clint’s silhouette on the threshold, outlined by the hall light behind him. Pietro quickly closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He heard the door close, then the quiet shuffling of Clint undressing for bed. There was a long, silent pause, and Pietro couldn’t help but wonder what Clint was doing. He was just about to chance a peek when the bed springs creaked and the mattress shifted under Clint’s weight. A slight draft seeped under the blankets as Clint slid beneath them, and after a few seconds of getting comfortable, he went still. Pietro let out an imperceptible sigh and buried his face in the pillow, guilt gnawing at him on top of the rest of his misery.

 

Pietro woke first the next morning and slipped quietly out of bed and into the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror, his hands gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. The reflection staring back at him was still barely recognizable; he looked slightly less sickly now, but he had yet to gain back the healthy flush in his cheeks, or even an ounce of weight to make him look less like a corpse. The worst was his eyes. They had once been alight and full of energy, just like he used to be, but now they were dull and lifeless, devoid of their old spark. Whoever said that the eyes were the window to the soul was right. Even if Pietro tried to put on a smile, his eyes would betray him for how he really felt – dead. 

He looked down, tearing his gaze away from his reflection. The sight of his scarred arms made him shudder, and he wondered if he would ever feel comfortable leaving his room in just a t-shirt again. Then his eyes fell upon the brand on his forearm, the mark Hydra had left to claim him. His eyes stung as hot tears sprang up. He felt sick. His friends had gotten him away from Hydra, but he would have that scar for the rest of his life, reminding him every day that he had once belonged to them. But he was no longer their plaything, their toy, their possession. He couldn’t let them own him anymore.

Pietro snuck out of the bathroom and to Clint’s nightstand, opening the top drawer where he knew he kept a knife. He grabbed the knife and darted back into the bathroom. He glared down at the brand, trying to decide how best to get rid of it. There was no way to just remove it altogether, but maybe he could mar it enough that the symbol would no longer be visible, like scribbling over a bad drawing. 

He gripped the knife in his right hand and held it over the brand. He had suffered plenty of pain to last him a lifetime... did he really want to inflict more on himself? He went and sat on the toilet seat, worried that he might pass out if he tried to do this standing up. Then he made the first cut, a diagonal line across the face of the symbol. He inhaled sharply at the pain and turned away as a red gush of blood seeped from the wound. His vision blurred with fresh tears but he blinked them away and sliced the knife across his arm again, forming an “x”. They didn’t own him anymore. He was a human, not an object to be claimed. He belonged to no one, he was no one’s property. 

His hand was shaking as he made the third cut and he dug in a little too deep. A whimper of pain escaped his throat and he couldn’t stop himself from crying anymore. His cheeks were wet with tears and his arm was wet with blood and everything hurt, but he was _free_ , Hydra’s last attempt at making him theirs was obliterated. But oh God, did it hurt.

The bathroom door opened and Pietro looked up. Clint stood frozen in the doorway, staring down at him in horror. Pietro let the knife slip from his fingers.

“Help me,” he begged.

Clint was kneeling in front of him in an instant, pressing a towel over his wounds to sop up the blood.

“Jesus, Pietro, what were you doing?” he asked.

Pietro took a few deep breaths, trying to get a handle on himself.

“I was trying to get rid of it. I was sick of them owning me,” he said.

“Get rid of what?”

“The brand. Hydra put it there to _claim_ me... I don’t want to be theirs anymore,” said Pietro.

“So what, you tried to cut it off?” Clint said.

“Kinda.”

“Christ....”

Clint lifted the towel to check on the bleeding.

“Okay, let’s wash this off,” he said.

He gently pulled Pietro to his feet and took him to the sink, then ran his arm under the water, rinsing away the blood. Pietro didn’t think he could handle the sight of all that blood, so he watched Clint instead. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“For what?” 

“For this. For... last night. I shouldn’t have said those things...”

“It’s okay,” said Clint. He turned off the sink and started drying off Pietro’s arm. “In a way, you were right. I should have tried harder to find you. I mean, God, I thought it was enough, but if it had been, I would’ve gotten you out sooner. So I’m the one who should be sorry. Not you.”

He sat Pietro back down on the toilet seat and got out some gauze and medical tape and started bandaging his arm.

“But I hurt you,” said Pietro. “I didn’t want that.”

“I know. But really, it’s okay. You’ve been through a lot, more than anyone should have to go through. I don’t blame you for feeling like that.”

Clint finished wrapping the bandage and took both of Pietro’s hands in his.

“I love you, Pietro,” he said. “I just want to help you get better. All you need to do is tell me how.”

Pietro looked at him, his bottom lip trembling. What had he done to deserve this man’s unconditional love? 

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Clint leaned forward slowly until they were mere centimeters apart.

“As you wish,” he breathed.

Then he closed the gap between them and their lips met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, for real this time, this will be the last update until probably the 19th when I'm back from vacation.


	9. if you promise not to cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter nine is from "The Light Behind You Eyes" by My Chemical Romance

 

Today was much better than the day before. With the exception of the rocky start in the bathroom that morning, Pietro was feeling almost okay. After Clint helped him calm down, he put on a sweatshirt and they went down for breakfast. Then they just sat on the sofa, Pietro curled up against Clint’s side, Clint stroking his hair, neither saying much of anything. It was the most at peace Pietro had felt in a long time. 

So of course it couldn’t last. Pietro started getting jittery again during dinner, and it kept progressing as the evening went on. By eleven o’clock, he had shrunk into a corner of their room, his face buried in his knees, his hands tangled up in his hair. Clint sat on the floor in front of him, far enough away to give him space, but close enough to be there if he needed him. He didn’t try to talk, just sat there and waited until Pietro was ready for his help.

But Pietro wasn’t ready. He couldn’t... he was too afraid. Terrified of being okay again only for it to be snatched away. Terrified of losing Clint but also terrified of having him. But most of all, terrified of himself. There was a void inside him where the man he used to be once was, and he didn’t know how to fill it, how to keep himself from being sucked into its gaping abyss.

 

***

 

Clint was exhausted and his entire body ached. The sky outside was beginning to glow a rosy pink. Morning had come, but Pietro still sat huddled in the corner. They had been there all night, Clint just waiting, his heart breaking with each muffled sniffle that told him that Pietro had started crying again; eventually he lost track of how many times. As the sun rose, Clint decided he couldn’t wait any longer. Watching Pietro suffer and being unable to help was torture, and he wanted more than anything to make things better.

“Pietro?” he said quietly.

Another sniffle, then Pietro looked up, peering at him from behind his knees. His eyes were red from crying, and as he stared, another tear crept down his cheek.

“What can I do?” Clint asked.

Pietro didn’t answer. He just kept staring, all but expressionless except for the betraying tears. Clint sincerely hoped his silence didn’t mean a relapse.

“Pietro?” he said again.

“Pietro is dead.”

It was Clint’s turn to stare now. Those words were like a jab in the chest with a rusty knife.

“No,” he said. “No, you’re right here. You’re okay. You’re not dead.”

“Well then, I should be...” Pietro said.

“Don’t say that.”

“I would’ve died there. It was only a matter of time.”

“But we saved you,” said Clint. “You’re home.”

“I don’t have a home. Just places.”

“No, it’s not like that anymore. You _do_ have a home now. Here, with me.”

“I can’t,” said Pietro, his voice breaking as he began to cry again.

“What do you mean, you can’t? Can’t what?”

“Have a home. Not with you. Everything good... it just gets taken away... they’ll just take you away...”

“Who will?”

“Does it matter?” said Pietro. “Someone will, and then what will I do? I can’t let that happen, I can’t let myself _care_ because it’ll just end, and there’ll be less of me than ever.”

“Pietro, you’re not making any sense,” said Clint. “It doesn’t matter what’s happened before, or what _might_ happen. I’m here now, and I want to help you get through this.”

“No!” Pietro said. “I can’t let you do that. I can’t care. I can’t let myself love you.”

If what Pietro had said before was like a rusty knife in the chest, this was the twist that drove it into his heart.

“I don’t understand,” Clint said.

His voice was shaking, wavering on the edge of the breaking point.

“Well, learn to,” Pietro said coldly.

Then suddenly, he ran from the room. The door slammed and Clint was alone.

 

***

 

Three hours later, Clint wandered into the kitchen. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and there were dark shadows under his eyes, which were red from crying. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe away the tears clinging to his eyelashes. He stared around the kitchen for a minute, then gave up and sat down at the table across from Steve and Wanda.

“Jesus, Barton, are you okay?” said Steve.

“No...”

“What happened?” Wanda asked. “Is it something to do with Pietro?”

“Yeah... I dunno what happened,” said Clint. “We were both up all night, he just sat in the corner and cried, and then this morning... I dunno... he said some things... he wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, to be honest... but then...”

He stopped, his throat tight. Wanda and Steve waited patiently for him to collect himself.

“He said... he said he should be dead... and that he can’t let himself _care_.... that he can’t let himself love me...”

“Oh no...” Wanda murmured.

“And then he just ran out.... I don’t know what to do. I’m so worried about him, and I dunno if he just broke up with me or if he’s just having some sort of... I dunno... episode or something... I just... I need to talk to him. Wanda, can you find him for me?”

“I can try, but I’m not sure if talking to him would be the best idea right now,” said Wanda. “He might need some space.”

She closed her eyes, reaching out to her brother. Clint and Steve watched her, waiting. Then she frowned, opening her eyes again.

“I can’t find him. He’s shut me out,” she said. “He’s never done that before.”

Clint stood up, now more worried than ever.

“I’ve gotta find him.”

“Clint, wait. Wanda’s right, maybe he just needs some space,” said Steve. “He obviously doesn’t want to be found right now. Let him come out on his own time.”

“That’s rich coming from the man who’s been chasing down his brainwashed assassin boyfriend for the last, like, _year_ ,” Clint retorted.

Then he left the room.

 

***

 

Pietro had found the darkest, smallest corner of the tower to hide himself in. He had no idea how many hours he’d lain there crying, only that now he had no tears left, just a void that was deeper than ever and impossible to escape. He had never felt so empty, so entirely apathetic, so numb. He knew what he had to do, what he wanted to do, or whatever hollow drive had replaced wanting. It was easy, really. His path was clear. And doing it would be the simplest thing in the world. He might have once struggled with this decision, but now it was the only decision left to him.

Pietro got up and left his hiding place, then made his way down to the ground floor. He didn’t bother moving quickly; no need to rush this. It was going to be slow anyway, so he might as well take his time getting there. He closed the garage door behind him, locking it so he wouldn’t be disturbed, then lifted the keys off the hook on the wall. He went to the car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the car. Then he rolled down the windows and waited for death to take him.

Ironic that the way he had chosen to die would be so slow. His hands curled around the steering wheel and he leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. The noxious smell of exhaust began to fill the garage. Pietro felt like gagging, but he just gripped the steering wheel tighter and let the fumes begin to choke him.

 

***

 

Clint had searched every upper floor of Avengers Tower and found no sign of Pietro. If it hadn’t been enough how worried about him he constantly was these days, the events of that morning had sent him to borderline panic. He got in the elevator and went down to ground level, the one place he had yet to look, and continued his search.

He had nearly finished scouring the ground floor and was headed back toward the elevator, when he passed the garage and noticed the pungent smell of exhaust fumes creeping under the door. Clint frowned and went to open the door only to find it locked. His anxiety was peaking now, wavering very close to the edge of the charts. He stood back and kicked the door open. Coughing and covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, Clint stepped into the garage. One of the cars was running, and through the open window, he could see a shock of white hair.

“No!” he gasped, rushing forward.

Pietro sat unconscious in the driver’s seat, his head lolling forward onto his chest. Clint reached through the window and shut off the car, then opened the door, careful not to let Pietro tumble out. He scooped Pietro up in his arms and carried him out of the garage, coughing as the exhaust threatened to choke him too. He kicked the garage door shut behind him and hurried to the elevator. He used his foot to hit the button for the infirmary, then waited as the elevator jolted into motion. Clint’s arms ached under Pietro’s weight, but he couldn’t bring himself to set him down. At last, the doors slid open and Clint stepped out and made his way down the hall. He turned a corner and found himself face to face with Natasha.

“Clint, what happened?” she asked, staring at Pietro in alarm.

“Where’s Doctor Cho?” said Clint.

“In her lab.”

Clint soldiered on without another word, leaving Natasha to hurry along behind him. He pushed open the door of Helen’s lab and made a beeline for the empty hospital bed. Natasha was right on his heels.

“Agent Barton!” said Helen in surprise. “What happened?”

She was at Pietro’s bedside in an instant, checking his pulse. Clint gripped the edge of the bed frame, willing himself to remain upright.

“I found him in the garage with the car running...” he said. “He was trying to kill himself. Oh God.... he was killing himself...”

He sank to the floor, barely able to get air to his lungs between coughing from the exhaust fumes he had breathed in and his ragged sobs. Natasha knelt down beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder but saying nothing. She knew there were no words she could say to make Clint feel better, not after this. They just sat there, silent except for Clint’s sobs, waiting. 

“Agent Barton,” said Helen suddenly after several minutes.

Clint looked up, terrified of what she was about to say.

“He’s going to live. It may be a few hours before he wakes up, but he’ll live.”

Clint let out a sigh of relief, but it was a short lived feeling. Pietro had just tried to _kill_ himself, and if Clint hadn’t found him when he did, he’d be dead. The things Hydra had done to him, that Clint had let happen, had destroyed Pietro so much that he thought his only solace was in death.

 

***

 

Clint hadn’t moved from Pietro’s bedside. Several hours had passed and the sky was beginning to darken. Clint hadn’t even realized what time it was, he’d just sat there, watching. Wanda had joined him about an hour after he’d found Pietro, and she’d been silently crying ever since. But Clint couldn’t cry. Not anymore. He felt empty, so empty, and the feeling was so destructive that he thought he maybe understood why Pietro had wanted to die. He stared at Pietro, holding his pale but thankfully warm hand, and wished for a way to stop this, to stop his suffering, to get back at the world for putting his beautiful, miraculous Pietro through so much pain. 

Clint stood up very suddenly. He knew what he had to do. What he wanted to do. He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on Pietro’s forehead.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered.

He straightened up and let Pietro’s hand slip from his fingers as he slowly backed away. Then he turned and left.

He walked back to his room with purpose unlike any he’d ever felt before. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, then got to work. He changed out of his sweats and t-shirt, replacing them with dark jeans, a black long sleeve shirt, and a black hooded jacket. He pulled on a pair of boots and laced them up, then grabbed a backpack and started shoving things inside – extra clothes, his wallet. Once he’d finished packing, he paused and looked around the room. Then he dug through his drawers, pulling out an old black t-shirt. He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off a strip of fabric, then cut out two holes. He went to the bathroom mirror and tied on his makeshift mask, then put up his hood. He returned to the bedroom and got out his bow and quiver full of arrows. He slung the quiver and his backpack over his back and went to the window. He took out a grappling-hook arrow and fixed it to the ledge outside the window before climbing up onto the sill. Then with one last look around the room, he dove out and slid to the ground. The moment his feet touched pavement he was off, running away from Avengers Tower and vanishing into the gathering night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a lying liar who keeps writing more. but this time i mean it, this is the last chapter before i get back from vacation. hell of a place to stop, i know. i'm sorry.


	10. she's singing baby come home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter ten is from "Jet Pack Blues" by Fall Out Boy
> 
> i'm back from vacation, so we'll be back to regular updates now! :)

 

“–gone. Just gone. No note or anything, just this.”

“But why would he do that? And now of all times?”

“I don’t know. It looks like he just grabbed some stuff and bolted.”

“This is not going to go over well when Pietro wakes up.”

_What wasn’t going to go over well? Who left?_

Pietro wasn’t nearly alert enough to make sense of the snatches of conversation he heard as he slipped back into consciousness. He was a little more confused by the fact that he was even waking up at all. He was supposed to be dead. That was the plan. And yet unless the afterlife involved hospital beds and oxygen pumps, he was definitely alive. Not to mention he’d just overheard Wanda and Natasha talking, and he was fairly certain they were both alive. 

Pietro opened his eyes, wincing at the brightness of the fluorescent lights after the tranquil dark of unconsciousness. So it was true, he _was_ alive. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that yet. And there was Wanda sitting at his bedside, and Natasha standing next to her, something thin and dark clasped in her fist. But where was Clint? Oh God, the things Pietro had said to him... just the memory of those words was enough to make him wish he’d succeeded in killing himself. He had to apologize, to take it all back, to let Clint know he didn’t mean those things, that he loved him with all his soul. 

“Wanda?” he said.

His voice was hoarse and his throat felt thick and scratchy, like he’d tried to swallow cotton. Wanda and Natasha turned to him at the sound of his voice, both looking surprised, relieved, and a little bit nervous.

“Pietro! Oh thank God, you’re okay,” said Wanda, taking his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit dizzy,” Pietro replied, which was an understatement – his head ached horribly. “Where’s Clint?”

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a grim look.

“Wanda, where is he? Has something happened?” Pietro said.

“We don’t know,” said Wanda quietly. “He’s gone. He just... left. Packed some things and ran away. He didn’t even leave a note.”

“Oh God... this is my fault,” Pietro groaned. “I drove him away. I let him think I didn’t love him anymore and now he’s left and oh God, I would’ve died without ever telling him I’m sorry and this is all my fault...”

A strangled sob escaped him and Wanda squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“Shh, Pietro, it’s okay, it’s not your fault,” she said.

“He’d have come back and found me dead...”

“No, he wouldn’t,” said Natasha. “He’s the one who found you.”

Pietro looked up at her, blinking away the tears clinging to his lashes.

“He did?”

“Yes. I know you didn’t want him to, but he saved your life,” Natasha said. “He was sitting here with you for hours, waiting for you to wake up.”

“Then why did he leave?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”

“We need to get him back,” said Pietro. “We need to find him. I have to tell him I’m sorry.”

“We’ll find him, I promise,” Wanda said.

“I’ll tell the rest of the team,” said Natasha. “We’ll start looking. I know about most of his safe houses, that’s a pretty good place to start.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said.

Natasha smiled sadly at him.

“Get some rest,” she said.

She placed the object in her hand on the table by his bed, then left the infirmary. Pietro turned to see what she had been holding. It was one of Clint’s arrows. The only thing he had left behind. No, not the only thing. He had left Pietro behind too. 

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked.

“No,” said Pietro, his eyes stinging with tears again. “I’m really not. I wanted to be dead, Wanda. It was the easiest thing in the world, deciding to die. But I didn’t. I’m alive. Because of _him_ and now he’s gone.”

“I know this is probably the worst thing I could ask, but I have to know,” said Wanda. “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know... I just felt... no, _feel_.... so empty... living doesn’t really seem to have a point when you’ve got nothing inside you.”

Wanda was crying now too, and Pietro felt bad but, well, she had asked. He had a feeling that making people cry was going to become a thing with him. If it hadn’t already. He had been so out of it that he wasn’t really sure.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For hurting you like this. That’s all I seem to be doing lately, hurting the people I love.”

“No, Pietro. None of this is your fault,” said Wanda. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Now rest. You need it.”

“You’ll wake me if you find anything about Clint?”

“Of course.”

 

***

 

Three days. That’s how long Pietro had been stuck in the infirmary. Not that he entirely cared. He was used to being stuck, cooped up. And besides, if he hadn’t been lying in the hospital bed, he’d probably have just been lying on his own. He was too tired to do anything else, in every sense of the word. He was living in a fog.

Most of all, he wanted to know where Clint was, to know he was safe, for him to come home. He wanted to tell Clint that he was sorry for all the things he’d said, for trying to kill himself, for everything. He wanted to tell Clint how much he loved him and to kiss him over and over until there was no doubt in Clint’s mind that Pietro loved him with every ounce of his being, that his love for Clint was just as unconditional as Clint’s for him, that no amount of torture and mental instability could stop him from loving Clint. 

But they had found nothing. Three days, and there was nothing. Clint was too good at hiding. Natasha and Steve had come by to visit Pietro and update him on the search. He had hoped it would be good news, that maybe they had found some clue, no matter now small, but it was just the same thing that Wanda had told him the last two days. Nothing.

“We’ll keep looking,” Steve assured him.

“What if something’s happened to him?” said Pietro. “What if he’s hurt? What if he’s dead? I don’t think I could stand it if he died thinking I meant all those things....”

“Clint’s a spy, an assassin. He knows how to hide,” said Natasha. “If he doesn’t want us to find him, he’s gonna make damn sure we can’t.”

“But what if–?”

Pietro’s question was interrupted as the infirmary doors swung open and Maria Hill walked in, tablet in hand. Pietro’s heart raced nervously. He knew Natasha had asked Maria for help finding Clint; she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t found something out.

“I’ve got news on Barton,” she announced, handing the tablet to Natasha. “Four Hydra operatives dead in three days, all from the same unit, all killed in the exact same way.”

“How do you know it’s him?” Natasha asked.

“They all had a picture of an arrow carved into their chests. Pretty obvious signature for a man whose trademark weapon is a bow.”

“But why would he go rogue like that?” said Steve.

Pietro took the tablet as Natasha handed it to him and the minute he saw the picture of the first victim, his heart dropped. He flicked through the other three pictures, the same feeling of dread plucking at him each time.

“I know these men,” he said quietly. “They were some of the ones who... that...”

He trailed off, but he knew that the others had figured out what he was talking about. These were the men who had tortured him.

“I know what he’s doing,” said Natasha. “It’s revenge. He’s hunting down everyone who hurt you.”

Pietro looked down at the tablet in his hand, at the grisly pictures of the Hydra agents’ corpses. Clint had killed these men because they’d hurt him. No, not just killed. This wasn’t just sticking an arrow through their hearts and calling it good. This was vicious, violent murder. Part of him was glad knowing that those monsters had met their end, gotten the bloody death they deserved for torturing him. But in truth, he felt horrible seeing the coldblooded depths Clint had gone to on his account. 

“I can’t let him keep doing this,” he said. “We have to stop him.”

“How?” said Steve. “We don’t know his next target. He could be anywhere.”

“I know the men who tortured me,” said Pietro. “Their faces are burned into my mind. We can make a list, find out where they are, try and figure out where he’d most likely go next and get there first. Please. I can’t let him become a murderer for me.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” said Natasha. “Pietro’s right, we can’t just let Clint go on a wild murder spree like this. We need to bring him home.”

“Okay. Hill, gather all the intel you can on every possible member of that Hydra unit,” said Steve. “I’ll put together a team to go out and find him.”

“If it’s okay, I’d like to be on that team,” said Pietro.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

“Absolutely. The only reason I’m still in this hospital bed is because I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else. Now I’ve got a purpose. Something to distract me, to remind me who I’m supposed to be. And besides,” Pietro said, “I have to tell Clint I still love him.”


	11. still written in the scars on our hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter eleven is from "Just Give Me A Reason" by P!nk featuring Nate Ruess.

 

Pietro walked into the living room where the rest of the Avengers had gathered to see off the team Steve had assembled for their mission. Besides Pietro and Steve, the others that had been asked to come were Natasha, Wanda, and Sam. It was a small team, but they didn’t really need more than the five of them. Their bags were packed, and they had a small arsenal of weapons that they really hoped they wouldn’t have to use. All they needed now was the information Maria and Tony had gathered for them.

“Here’s the list of agents in that Hydra unit,” said Tony, handing Steve a tablet. “I’ve calculated it out in what seems like the most likely order for Barton to go after them, based on location mostly. I’ve also got this thing set up to recalculate in case of location changes or if Barton kills another one, so you can... oh good, look, you get a demonstration.”

Pietro glanced over Steve’s shoulder as the location of the first agent on the list switched from “Albany, NY” to “Terminated”.

“Excellent,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, at least we know it works,” said Sam.

“That bright side isn’t very bright,” Steve said.

 

***

 

They decided to head Clint off at the location of his next possible target, figuring that he would be long gone by the time they got to Albany. Tony’s list said that the agent was in a small town in Maine, so they all piled into the car and started driving north. Sam took the wheel with Steve riding shotgun, leaving Pietro, Wanda, and Natasha in the back seat. Wanda had taken the middle seat so she could sit next to her brother. She held his hand, gently stroking her thumb across his. Pietro was glad of this comforting gesture, but still he felt distant and distracted, just resting his forehead against the cold window and watching the scenery flash by. 

They drove in silence and it wasn’t until they were about two hours out from the town that Steve suddenly spoke.

“Turn around.”

“What?” said Sam. “We’re practically there.”

“Yeah, well, we’re too late,” said Steve. “The guy’s dead.”

Sam slammed on the brakes and pulled over.

“How the hell did Clint get there before us?” Natasha said.

“Head start, I guess,” said Steve. 

“Add to that the fuel of a vengeful rage and you’ve got one unstoppable man,” said Sam.

“So where to next?” Wanda asked.

Steve looked down at the tablet.

“Uhh... Boston.”

“Shit... we’re never gonna catch up to him,” said Pietro.

“We’ll find him,” said Wanda. “Clint’s still in Maine, we’ve got the head start this time.”

 

***

 

“God dammit,” Steve said frustratedly. “He beat us again.”

They had just reached Boston. It was nearly three in the morning and everyone was exhausted, and Steve’s announcement wasn’t doing anything to boost morale.

“How the hell is he doing it?” Pietro said.

“I have no idea, but I have a feeling we’re gonna be turning around a lot,” said Sam, pulling over once again.

“Speaking of which, why don’t you boys come back here and get some rest,” Natasha suggested. “I’ll drive, Wanda can navigate and keep track of the hit list.”

“I am so glad you offered,” said Sam.

They all got out and switched places. It was a lot more crowded in the back seat with three tall, muscular men squeezed together, but having the considerably shorter girls in the front meant more leg room, which Pietro definitely appreciated. Natasha restarted the car and turned to Wanda.

“So, where’s he headed next?”

“Pennsylvania.”

Natasha put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. They all fell silent again, and pretty soon, Pietro, Steve, and Sam were all fast asleep, using each other’s shoulders as pillows and snoring quietly.

 

***

 

Pietro woke up just as they were passing a sign that read “Welcome to Ohio”. He frowned, looking back at the other side of the sign as though expecting to find another sign that said “Just kidding, wrong state”. He turned to the front again; Natasha was still driving and Wanda was flipping through the radio stations.

“I thought we were going to Pennsylvania,” he said.

“Well there’s one of the sleeping beauties,” said Natasha.

“He beat us again,” Wanda explained, scowling at the stubbornly staticky radio.

“So now he’s going to Ohio?” said Pietro.

“Not the most inspired hiding place for a Hydra agent, I know,” said Natasha. “Still, it could be North Dakota. That would be much worse.”

“What?” 

“Right, sorry, you two haven’t experienced the joys of America’s most boring states.”

“Maybe we should skip this one,” Pietro suggested. “Try the next town on the list. Since he’s always just ahead of us, maybe we can get just ahead of him.”

“Are you sure?” Wanda asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, apart from this tiny town we’re headed to that neither of us can even pronounce, there’s only one place left on the list,” said Natasha. “And I don’t think you’ll wanna go anywhere near the guy who’s hiding there.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s the head of the unit,” said Natasha. “He was the one in charge of all the shit they did to you.”

Pietro felt nauseous just at the mention of that man. That was the face burned into his mind more strongly than all the rest. But he had to find Clint. 

“Do it,” he said quietly. “Skip Ohio. I just want to get there before Clint does.”

 

***

 

“He’s killed the one in Ohio,” Wanda announced.

They were well on their way to Chicago now, where the final target was hiding. 

“Damn...” Pietro muttered.

“Looks like it’s a race to the finish line now,” said Steve with a sigh. “I’ll drive the rest of the way, Nat. You get some sleep.”

 

***

 

At long last, they pulled up outside the cheap motel they had traced the last agent to.

“Well, good news, he’s not dead yet,” said Sam.

“What’s the bad news?” Pietro asked.

“I’m hoping there isn’t any.”

They armed themselves and stepped out into the cold night air, making their way to the agent’s hotel room.

“I still can’t believe we’re saving a Hydra agent’s ass,” said Steve.

“I just keep telling myself we’re saving Clint,” said Natasha. “Which _is_ what we’re really doing. I mean, I want the bastard dead too, but I’d rather my best friend didn’t become a serial killer.”

They reached the hotel room door and Wanda lifted her hands to break it open, but paused, frowning.

“The door’s already been kicked in.”

“And there’s the bad news,” said Sam.

“Shit...” Natasha muttered.

“Well, let’s do this before we’re too late again,” said Pietro.

He stepped forward and kicked the door open. The Hydra agent lay on the ground, beaten and bloody but still alive, and standing over him with his back to the door was a hooded figure, his identity given away by the quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

“Clint, stop!” Natasha cried.

Clint turned around. He was unshaven and wore a sloppily made black mask, but it was undoubtedly him; it wasn’t exactly the best of disguises. But Pietro wasn’t focused on Clint, as he’d expected to be. His eyes were fixed on the man at Clint’s feet.

“Clint, you can’t keep doing this,” said Natasha.

“I have to! I have to finish the job! Do you have any idea what this bastard did?” Clint argued.

“Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea,” said Natasha. “But that doesn’t justify you becoming a murderer.”

Pietro barely heard them fighting. Suddenly, he burst into action. He snatched the gun from Natasha’s hand and was standing over the Hydra agent before anyone could react. Clint and Natasha went silent and Pietro could tell that all of them were staring at him and the gun in his hand, scared of what he might do. The man at his feet chuckled, then coughed painfully, clutching his broken ribs.

“Ah, look,” he sneered. “The prodigal son returns.”

“If you think that’s what this is, then you’ve definitely underestimated me,” said Pietro, his voice dangerously quiet. “Big mistake.”

He lifted the gun and aimed it at the man’s forehead, right between his eyes. Then he pulled the trigger, not just once, but over and over until he had buried every single bullet in the man’s skull. He lowered his arm and let the gun fall from his hand, then turned around to face Clint. He stepped toward him, bridging the gap between them, and lowered Clint’s hood, then slipped the mask off. Clint was staring at him in shocked disbelief, his eyes full of tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Pietro whispered. “For everything.”

“No, I should be sorry,” said Clint. “For leaving when you still needed me.”

“I understand why you did it. And... well... thank you,” said Pietro. 

“Even if you can’t love me, Pietro, I will keep loving you. Always.”

“But I do love you, Clint. Nothing those bastards did to me can stop that. I didn’t mean those things I said. I love you,” Pietro said. “And I need you. I can’t get through this on my own.”

“And you won’t have to,” said Clint. “I’m not ever gonna leave you like that again. I promise.”

Then he pulled Pietro into his arms. Pietro clung to Clint like a life line, feeling safer and more secure in his embrace than he had in weeks. After several long moments, he pulled away just enough to kiss him, his hands still clutching desperately to Clint’s bloodstained hoodie. 

“Come on,” Pietro said when at last they broke apart. “Let’s go home.”


	12. while the crown hangs heavy on either side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter twelve is from "Far Too Young To Die" by Panic! At The Disco

 

The drive home was awkward to say the least. For one thing, they only had room in the car for five people, so they had to cram four people in the backseat. And then there was the matter of the dead body in the trunk. It took them about three hours to come across somewhere remote enough to bury it. They had only been back on the road for another half hour before Pietro felt a sudden wave of nausea and panic.

“Stop the car,” he demanded. “Pull over now.”

“What, why?” said Steve, who was driving.

“Just do it. Please.”

Steve pulled over to the shoulder. The car had barely come to a stop before Pietro burst out of the door and stumbled to his knees in the ditch, sobbing and gasping. Clint and Wanda were at his side in an instant.

“Pietro, what’s wrong?” Wanda asked.

“Oh God... I killed somebody... I actually killed someone...” Pietro said. “I killed a man and we just buried him in the woods and I’m a murderer...”

“Whoa, slow down, sweetheart,” said Clint. “It’s okay. I know this probably isn’t the most comforting thing coming from me, since I just came off a murder spree, but it’s okay. Yeah, killing people isn’t good, but you’re on a team of people who’ve all killed before, whether we wanted to or not. Sometimes it’s necessary. Now I wouldn’t say that what either of us did was _necessary_ , but those bastards were horrible, evil men. You know that better than anyone alive. Maybe he didn’t _deserve_ to get six bullets in the head, maybe all those other agents I killed didn’t _deserve_ the stuff I did to them, because no one _really_ deserves that kind of shit, no matter how bad they are. But it sure _felt_ like they deserved it. So I killed them, and you killed that man, and there’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ve just gotta learn to live with it, just like anything else. Okay?”

Pietro sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

He looked down at his hands and chuckled bitterly.

“I sure do have a long list of shit to learn to live with,” he said.

“Yeah, I suppose you do,” said Clint. “But I’ll help you through it, just like I promised.”

 

***

 

They stopped in the next town they came across and found a motel to spend the night in. The next morning, they stopped at the only coffee shop in town to get breakfast before starting off on the rest of the drive. They didn’t stop until they got back to Avengers Tower. It was after midnight when they pulled into the garage and all of them were exhausted. When they got upstairs, they found that Tony and Bruce were up waiting for them.

“You guys haven’t been sitting up for us every night, have you?” Steve asked.

“We were all a little too nervous to sleep much anyway,” said Bruce.

“I thought you guys were gonna head Barton off _before_ he killed all of them,” said Tony.

“We did. Barely,” said Natasha.

“Oh really? So why are all of them dead?”

“Well, technically _Clint_ didn’t kill the last guy,” said Sam.

“Then who did?” said Bruce.

“Me,” said Pietro wearily.

Tony and Bruce stared at him in shock and it was a moment before either of them spoke.

“You?” said Tony at last. “ _You_ killed a guy?”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Pietro said. “The man _did_ torture me for two months.”

“Well yeah, but...”

“Are you doing okay?” Bruce asked.

Pietro rolled his eyes and sighed.

“No, not really, but I also tried to kill myself a few days ago so it’s not like things are much different. I’m going to bed.”

And with that, he walked off. He was nearly to his bedroom when Clint caught up with him.

“You okay?” Clint asked.

“Didn’t you hear what I told Doctor Banner?”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m asking. You never get snippy with him.”

They reached the bedroom door and Pietro stopped walking. He sighed and looked at Clint, who was watching him with a concerned look on his face.

“That was the most honest I’ve been to anyone besides you and Wanda about how I’m feeling since you got me out,” he said. 

“Yeah, I guess it is...” said Clint. “How are you feeling about that?”

“I’m a little scared, to be honest,” said Pietro. “I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to be open with everyone, to even be with them much. The only reason why I have the last few days was out of necessity. To find you. But I wasn’t comfortable. They’re my friends and I trust them, but if Wanda hadn’t come with us, I don’t think I could’ve handled it. I just need more time, is all.”

Clint reached out to push a strand of hair out of Pietro’s face, then leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

“If time is what you need, time is what you’ll get,” he said. “Everybody on this team knows what it’s like to go through trauma. They understand that you need space. So until you’re ready, you don’t have to talk to anyone but me and Wanda, unless you want to. You don’t even have to talk to us if you really don’t want to, but a little warning might be nice beforehand.”

The corner of Pietro’s mouth turned up in a tiny half-smile, the closest thing to a smile he’d attempted since before he’d been captured. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

 

***

 

Clint woke up in the middle of the night with the same dream he had been having since he found Pietro in the garage and left on his revenge mission. In his dream, he was hunting down the men who had hurt Pietro, marking them off the list one by one. When he got to the final place, he found not another Hydra agent, but Pietro, standing with a knife in his hand and a long gash across his throat, blood pouring from the wound like a waterfall.

“You killed me, Clint,” Pietro would say. “You could have saved me, but you were too late. You’re always too late.”

Clint would try every time to run forward and catch him before he fell, even though he knew by now that his feet would be glued to the floor. He watched as Pietro crumpled to the ground in a pool of too-red blood, revealing the mirror that stood behind him and showed Clint his own reflection, barely recognizable under the blood of every man he had murdered in revenge.

Clint was glad that at least he hadn’t cried out this time when he awoke. He may have been drenched in sweat and trembling from head to toe, but at least he hadn’t woken Pietro. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked over at his boyfriend. He seemed to be sleeping more soundly than he had since they’d freed him from Hydra’s clutches, and Clint would almost dare to suggest he looked peaceful if it weren’t for the tiny frown creasing his forehead. 

Clint sighed and went into the bathroom, closing the door silently behind him before turning on the light. He turned on the sink and washed his face with cold water, rinsing away the sweat. He grabbed a towel and dried his face. When he looked back up at himself in the mirror, he jumped in alarm – Pietro was standing in the doorway. Clint turned around to face him.

“Jesus, kid, you scared me,” he said. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” said Pietro. “For a second, I thought...”

“You thought I left,” Clint finished.

Pietro nodded and looked down at the ground, almost as if he were ashamed to have ever thought such a thing. Clint sighed and pulled him into his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, Pietro returned the hug.

“I told you, sweetheart, I ain’t leaving you again,” he whispered.

“I know,” said Pietro.

They were silent for a minute, just holding each other, then Pietro spoke again.

“Are you okay?”

Clint didn’t reply right away.

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not okay,” said Clint. “You know all those things I said about killing, and how we gotta learn to live with it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well... I did a lot more to those men than just kill them,” Clint confessed. “You saw how beat up the last guy was... if you hadn’t shown up, I would’ve done a lot worse. I _did_ do a lot worse, to every single one of those men that I killed. I told myself I was giving them a taste of their own medicine, punishing them for everything they’d done to you. But I shoulda just killed them and moved on. It would’ve been easier to live with that. Now I just... I feel like I’m no better than they were.”

Pietro pulled out of the hug to look at him.

“That’s not true. You’re a good man, Clint. They were evil.”

“Yeah, but I _tortured_ them,” said Clint. “How does that make me any different from them?”

“They tortured me because they enjoyed it,” Pietro said. “What you did was different. It wasn’t right, but it _was_ different.”

Clint nodded and bit his lip, considering.

“I’ve been having this dream,” he said finally. “A bad one. Ever since you... ever since I found you... ever since I left.”

“Did you have it again tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it about?”

“The things I did... and you... you killing yourself... and me being too late to save you.”

“I’m sorry,” said Pietro quietly.

“It’s not your fault. It’s just a dream.”

“I know, I just... you’re having nightmares because of what I did...”

“It’s not your fault, Pietro,” said Clint firmly. “You’ve got enough on your plate without blaming yourself for my dreams.”

“I know,” Pietro said again. “It’s just hard... surviving and seeing what you did to the people you love.”

Clint kissed Pietro’s forehead.

“I’m not gonna pretend I understand what you’re going through or what you were feeling that drove you to do what you did. But I am gonna help you to get through it in every way I can. I promise.”


	13. you play the game though it's unfair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter thirteen is from "First" by Cold War Kids

 

They decided to just spend the next morning in bed. Clint disappeared to the kitchen for several minutes and returned with an impressively large stack of toast. Then they just lay in bed, listening to the radio and working their way through what Pietro now suspected was an entire loaf of bread. Once they’d finished their breakfast, they went and took a shower together. They didn’t bother getting dressed afterwards, instead choosing to just lay naked on the bed. The radio still played softly in the background and Pietro closed his eyes, utterly relaxed, as Clint traced his fingers over the scars that peppered Pietro’s arms and torso. He hadn’t felt so much like himself in so long, and he wanted to savor it while it lasted because he knew it was only a matter of time before the nightmares returned, regardless of whether he was asleep or awake.

So of course they were interrupted. They had been lying there for about an hour when someone knocked on the door. Clint got up and pulled on some sweatpants, tossed a blanket over Pietro, who hadn’t made any sign of trying to cover himself, then answered the door. It was Tony.

“Hey lazy bones,” he greeted. “You’ve got mail.”

He handed an envelope to Clint.

“There’s no return address and it’s marked urgent,” he continued. “So I’m guessing it’s some top secret SHIELD agent business.”

“Naw, I don’t think so,” said Clint, frowning at the envelope. “I haven’t really done much for them since SHIELD fell, just Avengers stuff. And they have never contacted me by mail.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to your secret admirer or whatever it is,” said Tony. 

He left and Clint closed the door. He walked over and sat back down on the bed next to Pietro.

“Who do you think it’s from?” Pietro asked.

“Well, we’re about to find out,” said Clint. 

Then he tore open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. Clint took it out and read it silently, a grim look coming over his face as he did.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” said Pietro.

“ _Consider this your warning, Hawkeye,_ ” Clint read. “ _You’re not the only one who can play this game. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place._ ”

“Hydra,” Pietro breathed, his heart sinking.

“Yup.”

Clint set the letter in Pietro’s lap. Pietro looked down at it. Beneath the text was the symbol of Hydra, stamped as a signature in red ink.

“They’re going to come after you. They’re going to kill you for what you did,” said Pietro.

All the serenity of that morning was shattered, replaced by a fearful panic.

“No, I don’t think they will. Not yet, anyway,” said Clint.

“What do you mean?”

“You saw the letter. ‘ _You’re not the only one who can play this game._ ’. If they’re coming after me, it won’t be right away,” said Clint. “They’ll come after the team first. They’re gonna kill everyone I love. To punish me for killing their agents. _Then_ they’ll kill me.”

“After they make you watch your friends all die,” Pietro finished.

His panic was escalating now. Hydra had just added every single one of the Avengers to a hit list, and as someone who had suffered their violence first hand on two separate occasions, he knew they weren’t going to let any of them off easy with a quick bullet to the head. 

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Clint said, crumpling the envelope in his fist. “I put you and all the others in danger. And all because I couldn’t control my fucking temper.”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen,” said Pietro. 

“Maybe not, but this is Hydra we’re talking about. If I’d just stopped to think for a god damn second, I would’ve realized it was a dumbass idea, that I’d get _at least_ myself killed, if not everybody I fucking know.”

“You were upset, Clint. You wanted revenge. I know a little of what it’s like to do stupid things for revenge. It’s easy to convince yourself you’re doing the right thing.”

“Pietro, they’re gonna try and hurt you again because of me. You don’t have to comfort me. You _should_ be mad at me.”

“I’m more scared than anything,” Pietro said. “But I’m definitely not mad.”

“You should be.”

“Well, I’m not. Though quite honestly, part of that is because I’m a little too busy being terrified out of my mind.”

Clint took Pietro’s hand and kissed his forehead.

“I’m so sorry I’ve put you in danger like this,” he said.

“I forgive you,” said Pietro. 

“Oh Christ, we’ve gotta tell the others,” Clint groaned.

“They, on the other hand, might be a bit more pissed off at you.”

 

***

 

“Well, Barton, this is absolutely fantastic,” Bruce said sarcastically.

Clint had just finished telling the rest of the Avengers about Hydra’s letter and, just as Pietro had predicted, they were all considerably less than thrilled. Not that he blamed them. He’d put a death sentence on all of their heads with his rash actions, they were more than entitled to be mad at him.

“I’m sorry about this, guys. I really am,” he said. “I didn’t think they’d come after all of you because of what I did... I mean, I figured they’d want _my_ head on a platter, but this...”

“Clint, it’s not your fault, you couldn’t have expected this,” said Natasha.

“Dammit, Nat, you and Pietro are both the same,” said Clint. “This _is_ my fault, and there’s no making excuses for it. I’m the one who went postal and murdered all those Hydra agents, which means I’m the reason the rest of Hydra is gonna try and kill all of you. That’s on _my_ head, Nat.”

Pietro slipped his hand into Clint’s and gave it a comforting squeeze, which Clint reciprocated gratefully.

“So, what are we gonna do about this?” Sam said, cutting straight to business; Clint was grateful for that too. “We should make a plan. ‘Cause I don’t know about the rest of you, but I really don’t feel like getting brutally murdered any time soon.”

“Well for starters, I’m gonna amp up security on the tower,” said Tony. “Not sure if I should put it on international crisis mode or just extreme danger...”

“International crisis might be a slight overreaction,” said Steve. “But definitely put the building on high security. And I don’t think anyone should go out by themselves.”

“Not a problem for me,” said Pietro.

“That might be all we can do for now,” Steve continued. “We can try to keep tabs on all known Hydra agents, but there’s only so much good that will do. Really, we’ve just got to be smart and be prepared. With any luck, we all make it out of this.”

 


	14. shot a hole through everything i love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter fourteen is from "Shots" by Imagine Dragons
> 
> sorry for the longer-than-usual gaps between chapters lately, i've been having writers block. hopefully i'll be going back to quicker updates now :)

Avengers Tower had gone into lockdown mode. No one was allowed to leave unless absolutely necessary, and if someone had to leave, they weren’t allowed to go out alone. The stress of knowing they were hunted on top of having to be cooped up was creating a lot of strain on the team and it showed. Pietro, however, had managed to do a pretty good job of avoiding it so far. Mostly, he just stayed in his room, or sat and watched Clint in the archery range. He was already feeling stressed out and miserable enough on his own, so he had decided that the best way to keep himself from completely derailing again was to distance himself as much as possible from his high-strung teammates. It had been nearly a week now, the only people he was seeing on a regular basis were Clint and Wanda, and so far he seemed to be coping decently well for someone with a death sentence.

 

Pietro may have gotten almost accustomed to confinement, but after spending so much time stuck in the same places, he was starting to get antsy. He had been still too long. He needed to run. He knew he couldn’t go outside, he didn’t want to risk it, so he settled for running around the entire tower, taking the stairs whenever possible. That should burn off a little excess energy.

He came to a stop on the ground floor to catch his breath. Tony was there, checking the security on the front entrance and the garage, so Pietro went over to him to say hello.

“Hey, kid,” Tony said before Pietro could greet him, not looking up from his tablet.

“How did you know it was me?” said Pietro.

“You make a bit of a breeze whizzing around like that.”

“Oh...”

“How’re you holding up these days?” Tony asked. “Haven’t seen much of you since Barton’s threatening letter came.”

“You didn’t see much of me before that either,” Pietro pointed out.

“Whatever, answer the question.”

“Well, I guess I’m doing about as good as you’d expect, considering we’re all currently being hunted down by the same people who tortured me for nearly three months,” said Pietro.

“So not good, then?” said Tony.

“Not really,” Pietro replied. “It’s why I’ve been keeping to myself lately. Everybody’s been pretty worked up, having to deal with everyone else’s stress would only make mine worse.”

“I get that,” said Tony. “I also get why everybody’s all short-tempered. Coop up too many hot-headed big personalities in one building under an enemy threat for too long, at least a few people are bound to get snippy.”

“Which is why I just stick with Wanda and Clint.”

Tony nodded, frowning at the tablet in his hands.

“Something wrong?” Pietro asked.

“I sure as hell hope not,” said Tony. “Something does seem off though.... Why is it doing that? It shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Maybe there’s a glitch,” Pietro suggested.

“No, there couldn’t be, I designed this...”

Pietro rolled his eyes.

“Right, because _nothing_ you designed could possibly have something wrong with it.”

“Oh haha, smartass,” said Tony. “But seriously, this is actually kinda concerning, I think I’ll just run some quick diagnostics....”

“It’s too late for that,” said Pietro. “We have incoming.”

For Pietro, it happened in slow motion. He saw the bullets coming long before he could pick out the gunmen hiding across the suspiciously deserted street. But he knew Tony wouldn’t see what was happening until the bullets arrived, shattering the glass wall separating them from the outside world. He grabbed Tony just as the bullets hit their mark. The windows smashed, sending shards of glass clattering to the floor. Pietro dashed to the elevator and slammed the button, and in that brief moment of stillness, another bullet flew at them, hitting Tony in the shoulder. The elevator doors opened and Pietro pulled Tony inside, pommelling the close button until the doors slid shut.

“You know, having all-glass walls was rather a stupid move,” said Pietro.

“Yeah yeah, just get us back up to the others,” said Tony, digging the heel of his hand into his shoulder to slow the bleeding.

The elevator finally came to a stop and Pietro helped Tony out. The rest of the team was sitting in the living room.

“We’re under attack,” Pietro announced. “Hydra’s here. Doctor Cho, Stark’s been shot.”

“I’m on it,” said Helen, standing and coming over to them.

“FRIDAY, prep the suit please,” Tony said.

“Yes, Mister Stark,” the AI replied.

“Mister Stark, you’ve just been shot,” said Helen.

“Yeah, and you’ll fix me up nice and quick, Doctor Cho,” said Tony. “I’m not just gonna sit around when we’re under siege.”

Helen led Tony off to the infirmary, then Pietro turned to the others.

“So what do we do?” he asked, trying not to let his panic show.

“How long do you think it’ll be ‘til Hydra can get up here?” Steve asked.

“Less than three minutes,” said Pietro. “There’s only so much Stark’s security can do now that they’re inside.”

“That’s enough time for us,” said Steve. “Everybody suit up.”

 

They all split their separate ways to get ready. The moment Pietro and Clint got to their room, Pietro sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

“Pietro, what’s wrong? Come on, they’ll get up here any minute, we’ve gotta be ready,” said Clint.

“I can’t do this,” Pietro said. “I can’t handle this. It’s too much. I’m not ready for a fight, not a real one, not yet.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but you haven’t got much of a choice,” said Clint, sitting on the bed next to him. “Hydra’s here and they’re gonna try and kill all of us, and the only way to stop that from happening is to fight. Now, I know you’re not ready, and I don’t want you to get hurt because of that, so I’m gonna stick to you like glue and do my damnedest to keep you safe, okay?”

“But what if you get hurt because you’re too busy taking care of me?” Pietro protested. “I couldn’t live with that.”

“They call me Hawkeye for a reason. I can watch over the both of us. Now suit up.”

Clint gave Pietro a kiss, then got up and went back to getting ready. Pietro hardly felt better from his pep talk, but he knew Clint was right. He had no choice. It was fight now or be killed and let his friends be killed with him. He let out a heavy sigh and ran his hands through his hair, then quickly got ready. 

Once they had finishing suiting up, they shared one more quick kiss, then hurried back out. Either Pietro’s estimate had been wrong or Hydra had broken through the last line of security faster than expected, because the tower was already crawling with their agents. Pietro took a deep breath to steady himself, then he and Clint dove into the fray.

It became almost immediately clear just how much Pietro was not ready to be in a fight. He tried to be brave, he wanted to be, but he couldn’t. The sound of every gunshot made him flinch, and mostly he just found himself knocking Hydra agents off their feet so they posed an easier target for his teammates. He felt useless and cowardly and he really needed to get out of there, if only for a minute or so. He ran to Clint’s side and stopped just behind him so he wouldn’t impede Clint’s aim.

“I’m not doing much good right now,” Pietro said. “I need a moment. I’ll be back as soon as catch my breath.”

“Okay, just be careful,” said Clint. “Catch an elevator, nobody’ll hunt you down in there.”

“Thanks, Clint.”

Pietro kissed him on the cheek and ran to the elevator, slipping inside the moment the doors opened and impatiently hitting the close button until they shut again. He didn’t bother picking any floor number, instead just sitting down with his back against the wall and letting the elevator sit where it was. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. He had always been shit at meditation, so taking a few deep breaths was about as good as he was going to get. Still, it seemed to be working, at least a little bit. He was just beginning to think he might be ready to rejoin the fight when the elevator suddenly jolted into life, carrying him upward.

“Shit... shit shit shit...”

Pietro scrambled to his feet, pressing the buttons for a dozen different levels in an attempt to keep the elevator from going wherever it was taking him. But no such luck. A few seconds later, it came to a stop, the doors opened, and a Hydra agent stepped inside. Pietro froze, gripping the railing so tight his knuckles turned white, as the man pressed the button to close the doors again. Pietro’s eyes flicked to the button panel – all of the buttons he had pressed were still lit up, meaning he had about a dozen chances to make a dash for it, but if he missed even one of those chances, he’d be in for what was bound to be an agonizing elevator ride. The Hydra agent stepped toward him menacingly.

“I know who you are,” he said. “You’re the Maximoff boy, the one they had in Detention Six a few weeks back. Rumor has it you’re also Hawkeye’s little slut. Hurting you would be a pretty effective punishment for what he did, don’t you think?”

“No, please,” Pietro stammered. “Please don’t do this.”

He knew it was no use, that this man was going to hurt him no matter how much he begged, but he couldn’t help it. With all his experience, he should have known better than to even bother with words. But he was so desperate to avoid being tortured again that the words just slipped out. There was a quiet _ding_ and the doors reopened. Pietro tried to run out, but the man was in his way, and after a few seconds, the doors closed again, trapping him. Pietro had sunk to the ground, unconsciously making himself as small as possible, and now the man loomed over him, ten times more terrifying at this angle than he would’ve been if Pietro had managed to remain on his feet.

The man raised his fist and Pietro flinched before the blow even fell. He barely had time to recover from the first hit before the second one struck his other cheek. The third made contact with his nose, sending a steady trickle of hot blood down to his lips. He grimaced as the metallic taste met his tongue, then the man’s foot hit his stomach and he doubled over, gasping for air. The elevator stopped again, but Pietro knew he couldn’t try and escape anymore.  

They continued their vertical journey in God knew what direction now. Pietro had curled up on his side, hoping to give the man fewer sensitive areas to hit, but not really succeeding. The man didn’t care what parts he punched or kicked, just as long as it would hurt. The elevator kept diligently taking them to all the floors Pietro had foolishly selected, and the man kept beating him without even a single moment of rest. Pietro couldn’t have cried out for help if he tried, and even if he did, no one would have heard him. He was going to be beaten to death in an elevator. Hardly the way he expected to go, even these days.

The doors opened again. Pietro heard the familiar twang of a bowstring, then a heavy thud. He looked up to find Clint crouched over him. The Hydra agent lay dead beside him, an arrow protruding from his neck. 

“Can you stand?” Clint asked.

Pietro nodded and let Clint help him to his feet. The moment they were out of the elevator, Pietro buried his face in Clint’s chest and broke down. He felt Clint wrap his strong arms around him, holding him close and stroking his hair. The room seemed strangely quiet, and he realized that the fight must have ended. They were safe. For now. 

Pietro finally managed to calm down and emerged from Clint’s chest to find the rest of the Avengers standing there, awkwardly avoiding watching them. 

“You okay?” Clint asked.

Pietro shook his head.

“Jesus, he really did a number on you,” said Clint, gently brushing his hand across Pietro’s bruised cheek.

“What are we gonna do?” Pietro said.

“We have to leave,” said Natasha suddenly.

Everyone stared at her.

“If we stay here, they’ll just come back,” she continued. “It’ll be just the same, if not worse. We’ve got to go, split up, scatter ourselves across the country, take fake identities if we have to. Anything we can do so that they won’t find us.”


	15. me and your runaway scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter fifteen is from "Bulletproof Heart" by My Chemical Romance

 

Everything was set by three o’clock that morning. Belongings hastily packed, last-minute flights booked, accommodations figured out thanks to Maria Hill and the collection of old SHIELD safehouses that were still safe from Hydra. None of them were allowed to know where any of the others were going in case they happened to get captured and interrogated, but Tony gave them all burner phones so they could keep in contact without being traced. 

Pietro and Clint had been given a modest apartment in Seattle under the aliases Mateo and Lewis Branson. Pietro was glad he would be with Clint, but the thought of being separated from his sister for so long, not knowing where she was or if she was safe or when he would see her again, was terrifying for him. 

They all gathered in the demolished living room to say their speedy goodbyes. Pietro knew he would miss the rest of his teammates, but he was too focused on Wanda to give any of them a proper farewell. He held his sister close and willed himself not to cry.

“We’ll still get to talk to each other,” Wanda said.

“I know, but I’m still going to worry.”

“I’m going to worry too, but it’s not like we won’t get to contact each other. We can call each other every night if you want to make sure we’re both okay.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” said Pietro.

“I’ll miss you too. Take care of yourself,” said Wanda.

“I’ll try.”

They finally pulled out of the embrace, giving each other one last long look. Pietro kissed Wanda’s forehead, then bent down to pick up his bag. He smiled sadly at Wanda, then took Clint’s hand and began the exodus of Avengers Tower.

 

***

 

They arrived in Seattle several hours later, in the early hours of the morning. Maria had contacted the owner of their new apartment complex to let her know they’d be arriving early and that it was a special situation. The landlady was unusually friendly and cheerful for someone who’d been forced to get up before the sun to let two beat-up, exhausted tenants into their apartment. Clint made a note to find out what kind of coffee she drank.

“It’s not all that big, but it’s clean and furnished and I’ve just had all the plumbing worked on, so I hope it’ll do for you boys,” she said as she unlocked the door and handed them the keys.

Clint and Pietro stepped inside and looked around. The landlady was right, it wasn’t big, but it was still much nicer than either of them expected. Clint turned to her with a tired smile.

“This is great. Thank you for being so accommodating,” he said.

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Maria’s an old friend,” the landlady said. “If you two need anything, just give me a ring. My number’s by the phone.”

They thanked her again, then she left, shutting the door behind her. Clint turned to Pietro and took his hand.

“So. We’ve got our own place,” he said. “Not exactly the circumstances I’d have liked, but, well... Seattle’s nice so there’s that.”

“I hope this whole thing works,” said Pietro. “Going into hiding, getting away... I’ll admit, I probably have been needing that for a while.”

“Tell ya what,” Clint said. “We gotta lay low while we’re here anyway, so the whole time we’re doing this, we’re gonna focus on recovery, okay?”

Pietro nodded, and Clint thought he saw the slightest shadow of a smile in his eyes. He leaned in and kissed him. 

“So, what do you say we curl up on the sofa and fall asleep watching Saturday morning cartoons?”

“I’d like that,” Pietro said.

They sat down on the couch and Clint turned on the TV, flicking through the channels until he found the cartoons. Pietro scooted up close to him and leaned his head against Clint’s shoulder. Clint put his arm around Pietro and they got themselves comfortable. They were both so exhausted, they fell asleep before the end of the first cartoon.

 

***

 

When Clint woke up again, he was sprawled out across the sofa with Pietro still sleeping on top of him. They had been asleep long enough that the morning cartoons had ended and some other program was playing. Careful not to wake Pietro, Clint reached awkwardly behind him and grabbed the remote, turning off the TV. Apparently the ambient noise had lulled Pietro to sleep, because the moment it was gone, he woke up.

“G’morning, sleeping beauty,” said Clint, running a hand through Pietro’s soft white hair.

“Hi,” Pietro mumbled. “What time is it?”

Clint looked at his watch.

“Noon. So not good _morning_ , I guess.”

Pietro nuzzled his face back into Clint’s shirt and sighed.

“I’m hungry,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Well, we haven’t got any food yet,” said Clint. “How ‘bout we order a pizza?”

“That sounds good.”

Pietro sat up and rubbed his eyes. Clint groped in his pocket for his cell phone, then opened up the internet so he could find the phone number of the nearest pizza place.

“Do you mind if I go take a shower while you order?” Pietro asked.

“Of course not. I’ll let you know when it gets here,” said Clint.

“Thanks.”

Pietro got up and stretched before kissing Clint and disappearing into the bathroom. Clint found the phone number and called, ordering a large pepperoni and sausage pizza. Then he went into the kitchen to find plates. A little while later, Pietro reemerged from the bathroom wearing a silk robe tied loosely around the waist, which caused the front of the robe to fall open, showing off his chest.

“You’d think this place was a hotel with all the stuff they’ve got here for us,” he said, sitting at the table.

“Well, this apartment _is_ owned by SHIELD, it’s meant to be able to be used at the drop of a hat,” said Clint.

The doorbell rang and Clint went to answer it. 

“I’ve got a pizza for Lewis Branson,” the teenage boy at the door announced.

It took Clint’s tired, hungry brain a second to register that Lewis Branson was him.

“Right, that’s me,” he said, pulling the cash from his pocket. “Thanks, kid.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day,” the boy said.

Clint paid him and took the pizza, shutting the door behind him.

“Breakfast is served,” he said.

Pietro laughed softly and Clint’s heart soared. That was the first he’d heard Pietro laugh since they’d rescued him. Smiling to himself, he set down the pizza box and served up slices for both of them.

“What are you grinning about?” Pietro asked.

“What? Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“Well... just... you laughed,” Clint said.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” said Pietro, as though this was the first he’d realized it.

“I’ve missed your laugh,” said Clint.

Pietro gave him a slightly sad half-smile.

“I’ve kinda missed it too.”


	16. don't wanna waste one line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter sixteen is from "Could Have Been Me" by The Struts

 

When they were done with their pizza, Pietro offered to clean up so Clint could go take a shower. Once Clint had wandered off to the bathroom, Pietro put the leftover pizza in the fridge for later, then washed the dishes and put them away. Then he dried off his hands and went back to the living room, flopping down onto the sofa to wait for Clint to finish showering. A few minutes later, Clint came out in the other bathrobe. 

“You feeling up to going grocery shopping?” he asked. “I figure we should probably get that out of the way ASAP so we don’t have to live on cold pizza.”

“Sure,” said Pietro; he hesitated a moment before continuing. “But... well, we’re supposed to be in hiding, and well... my hair is kind of... conspicuous.”

“It’s not _that_ conspicuous,” said Clint. “Loads of people your age have much more attention-grabbing hair. Blue hair, pink hair... blue _and_ pink hair...”

“I dunno...”

“Look, if it worries you that much, you can wear this,” said Clint.

He dug around in his bag for a moment, then pulled out a tattered baseball cap and tossed it to him. Pietro caught it.

“Now get dressed, babe, Seattle may be progressive but it’s still frowned upon to wear your bathrobe to the grocery store.”

 

They got dressed and Pietro put on Clint’s baseball cap. It didn’t hide his hair entirely, but it was enough to make him a bit less worried that someone unfriendly would recognize him. Then they grabbed their keys and walked the four blocks to the grocery store. They wandered the aisles, loading up the cart. Once they had gotten the food they actually needed, they added a pack of Oreos, four tubs of ice cream, and a large bottle of wine, because as Clint said, those were all very necessary tools in the emotional healing process. They ended up with five very large bags full of groceries that they then had to try not to drop on their walk home. Needless to say, the trip back involved an awful lot of swearing, Pietro asking if the head of broccoli had really been necessary, and Clint nearly walking into oncoming traffic while trying to balance the fifth bag. Finally, they made it to the apartment complex, and spent the elevator ride leaning awkwardly against the railing. Since Clint had chivalrously taken three bags instead of two, that meant Pietro had to unlock the door. He propped one foot on the wall and rested one of the bags on his thigh while he dug his keys from his pocket and let them in. Clint barely made it to the dining table to set down his bags before collapsing to the floor dramatically and groaning.

“Next time, we take the bus,” he panted.

 

***

 

Despite their now full pantry, neither of them felt much like cooking that night, so they just had more of their leftover pizza for dinner, then cuddled silently on the couch for a few hours. Later, Clint sat on the edge of their bed in boxers and a t-shirt, waiting for Pietro to finish getting ready. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, wondering if this whole situation, getting away from everything, really would help Pietro get better. Just then, Pietro stepped into the room, wearing the silk bathrobe from earlier.

“Clint?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“If you want to... I’m ready.”

“For what?” Clint asked, confused by the way Pietro seemed to be acting rather bashful.

“To sleep with you again.”

“We’ve _been_ sleeping together, honey, what did you think we were about to-” Clint stopped, realization finally dawning on him. “Oooooh. You mean... like, sex.”

“You’re really thick sometimes, you know that?” said Pietro with a hint of his signature smirk.

“Oh yeah, ‘cause insulting me is _really_ gonna get us in the mood,” Clint teased.

“Well... do you want to?” Pietro asked, suddenly nervous again.

Clint stood up and went over to him, kissing him before he answered.

“Yes, I do.”

Pietro’s face lit up in a way Clint hadn’t seen in ages. Clint smiled and cupped his face in his hands, kissing him again. He felt Pietro’s hands slide up his torso, tugging his t-shirt towards his head. He pulled out of the kiss to let Pietro lift the shirt off him, then slowly untied Pietro’s robe. He was naked underneath, his skin pale and covered in scars, a thin trail of dark hair leading from his bellybutton down to his cock. Pietro shrugged the robe off his shoulders, then slid Clint’s boxers down his hips, his hands lingering over the curve of Clint’s ass. 

Clint leaned in to kiss him again, then led them to the bed. Pietro lay back against the pillows, his eyes gleaming with their old spark as he watched Clint dig out a bottle of lube and descend upon him with more kisses. Clint caught Pietro’s bottom lip between his teeth before trailing his lips down to his neck. Pietro sighed pleasurably and Clint grinned at the sound. 

Finally, he opened up the bottle of lube and squeezed a liberal amount onto his fingers, then set to work preparing Pietro. As he slowly sank his fingers inside one by one, Pietro closed his eyes and his mouth fell open with a gasp. 

“I’m ready,” Pietro murmured. “I need you, Clint. I want you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clint whispered.

Then he gave Pietro what he had asked for.

Perhaps it was the way things had been lately, but this time was much different from every other time they’d had sex. It was always so hot and steamy and passionate, as impatient and impulsive as they were. But this... this was new. This was as innocent as holding hands and good night kisses, soft and intimate and pure. This was making love.

Clint’s thrusts were slow and gentle. Pietro’s hand was clasped in his, their fingers interlocking. Clint couldn’t take his eyes off of Pietro, who looked so beautiful there beneath him, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining with life, all the shadows of torment forgotten if only for a little while.

At last, Clint reached his climax, and Pietro finished soon after. Clint leaned in to kiss Pietro one more time before rolling over to lay down next to him. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a couple of kleenex to clean up their mess, then rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on Pietro’s chest.

“So, how was that?” he asked.

“Incredible,” said Pietro. “I really missed this feeling.”

“What, of having my dick up your ass?” Clint teased.

“Shush, I’m trying to have a moment, don’t ruin it,” said Pietro, giving Clint’s ass a light and playful slap. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m listening,” said Clint.

“I _did_ miss that feeling too, but what I meant was... I missed feeling so close to you in every way imaginable,” Pietro said. “Ever since you rescued me from Hydra, I’ve felt distant. Even when you would hold me in your arms, I felt a thousand miles away from you. But tonight... I’m close to you again. I don’t want to lose that feeling ever again.”

Clint smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of Pietro’s hair aside.

“You’ll never have to lose it,” he said softly. “I’ll never let anyone take you away again. I promise.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, i kinda didn't plan to have smut in this fic originally, but then it happened....


	17. they're looking for my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter seventeen is from "Cough Syrup" by Young the Giant

 

Over the next few days, they fell into a pattern, quickly adjusting to their new style of life. They’d get up in the morning and make breakfast together, then they’d usually spend the day hanging around the apartment. They only went out to go grocery shopping and for the occasional walk in the park (there was only so much laying low they could do). It was the most slow and relaxed either of them had lived, and honestly, it seemed to be doing them some good. They were both smiling more, laughing more, having fewer nightmares. Pietro had never thought he could be content living a “normal” life, but as the days passed, he discovered that he could, and he found himself almost dreading the day when it would end and he and Clint would have to return to Avengers Tower.

 

Two uneventful weeks had gone by since they came to Seattle. It was evening, the dinner dishes had been put away, and Pietro and Clint were cuddled up on the sofa exchanging lazy kisses. Things were beginning to get a little heated when they were interrupted by the doorbell. They broke apart, both frowning in confusion.

“Who could that be?” Pietro asked. “The only person who visits us is the pizza man.”

“Maybe it’s the landlady,” said Clint.

He stood up and went to the door.

“Careful,” said Pietro.

Clint hesitated with his hand on the doorknob and looked back at Pietro before opening the door. Three men stood in the hall outside, all carrying guns.

“Hello Hawkeye,” one of them said.

“No!” Pietro shouted.

He ran forward and grabbed Clint, slamming the door in their faces before pulling Clint back to safety. 

“How did they find us?” Clint said.

“I don’t know, but we’ve gotta get out of here,” said Pietro.

“How? We’re four floors up!”

“I’m working on it.”

There was a bang on the door – the men were trying to get in.

“Okay, well, while you’re brainstorming, I’m gonna deal with those bastards,” said Clint.

He went into the kitchen and came back a moment later with a butcher knife.

“I didn’t even know we had that,” said Pietro.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a shitty cook so I wasn’t gonna trust you with it,” Clint said.

“Oh thanks.”

There was another bang, and this time the door flew open, smashing into the wall and sending splinters everywhere. The three men barged inside, raising their guns. Clint stepped between them and Pietro, holding the knife out in front of him.

“Clint-” Pietro protested, but Clint grabbed his arm and forced him to stay put.

“If you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through me,” Clint said.

“We’re not here for him,” one of the men said.

Pietro tried to move, to pull Clint away from the men to safety, but Clint just gripped his arm tighter.

“So, you’re here for me then?” Clint said. “I’m still gonna put up a fight.”

One of the men shot Clint in the leg and he collapsed to his knees with a yelp of pain, the knife slipping from his grasp.

“Clint!” 

Pietro knelt by Clint’s side, but the man who had shot Clint grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him roughly aside like a ragdoll. The other two men had taken Clint by the arms and were dragging him toward the door. Pietro scrambled to his feet and dashed forward. He scooped up the knife and then ran over to the third man, holding the blade to his throat. 

“Let him go, or I’ll kill this man,” he snarled, the sight of Clint in pain fueling him.

The men holding Clint exchanged a look, then one of them raised their gun and fired. The bullet hit Pietro in the side and he dropped the knife, clutching the wound.

“Pietro!” Clint cried, struggling to get away.

One of the men hit the back of Clint’s head with the pommel of his gun and Clint went limp. 

“Clint...” Pietro gasped.

He took a few steps forward and all three men aimed their guns at him.

“One more step and the next bullet’s in your head.”

Pietro froze, swaying on the spot. The men kept their guns trained on him as they dragged Clint away. Once they were out of the apartment, Pietro tried to follow them, but he was already dizzy from blood loss. He couldn’t catch up with them. It was all he could do to stay upright. But there was still one thing he could do.

He turned from the door and staggered back across the living room, keeping one hand clasped firmly over his wound as he searched between the couch cushions with the other. At last he pulled out his phone and opened it, sinking to the ground as he dialed the number with shaking hands. By the time he hit send, he was lying on his back, blood seeping between his fingers to stain the carpet.

“This is Hill.”

“Maria,” Pietro gasped. “I need help. They found us. They took Clint.”

 


	18. i know you're right behind me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter eighteen is from "Tonight" by Lykke Li

 

“Pietro, what happened?”

“They took him... They took Clint.”

Saying it seemed to make it real, and Pietro could feel a lump in his throat, tears threatening to escape. 

“Are you hurt?” Maria asked.

“Yeah,” said Pietro. “They shot me.”

“I’m sending someone to you,” said Maria. “Can you tell me how bad it is?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Considering your history, you’re going to have to be a lot more specific.”

“It’s just my side...”

“Is it bleeding a lot?”

“Yeah...” 

Pietro looked down at the bloodstain forming on the carpet beneath him.

“Okay, you’re going to need to get pressure on the wound until we can get to you,” said Maria. “Can you get a towel or something?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

Pietro struggled to his feet and walked slowly to the bathroom. He grabbed a towel and lifted up his shirt, pressing the towel to the wound.

“Okay, now what?” he said.

“Now sit tight and try to stay conscious,” Maria said. “Someone will be with you soon.”

“Thanks,” said Pietro, sinking back to the floor. “What about Clint?”

“I’m already working out where they might be taking him.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said again.

“Hang in there,” said Maria. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

 

***

 

Pietro didn’t remember passing out. But the next thing he knew, he was lying in an unfamiliar lab, Helen Cho’s tissue regenerating machine working on his bullet wound, and Wanda at his side.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“A secret bunker,” said Wanda. “Apparently it belonged to SHIELD.”

“How did you get here?” Pietro said.

“Maria called us all and had us brought here. I’m sorry about Clint.”

“Does she know where they took him yet?”

“Not yet, but hopefully we’ll know soon,” said Wanda.

Just then, Helen came back into the room.

“Oh good, you’re awake. You lost a surprising amount of blood, Mr. Maximoff,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit better,” said Pietro. “Is it nearly done?”

“It will be soon. Be patient,” said Helen.

Pietro sighed heavily but didn’t protest. He didn’t want to be patient. He wanted to go save Clint, as soon as he possibly could. But he knew he wouldn’t be any good in a rescue mission with a half-healed bullet wound.

 

***

 

Clint woke up to find himself shirtless and strapped to a cold metal table. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The room was big and cluttered, full of tables that were covered in various things that he figured were very unpleasant. There was no one else in the room besides him, but he knew that wouldn’t last for long. His surroundings now accounted for, Clint turned his attention to his body to see what damage had already been done. They seemed to have bandaged up his leg; apparently they didn’t want him bleeding to death before they got a chance to mess with him. Apart from his leg and the splitting headache from being knocked out, he had no other injuries. Of course. They’d want him to be awake for whatever tortures they hadin store.

Then his thoughts turned to Pietro. The last Clint had seen before he got knocked out, those bastards had shot him. If that was all they had done to him, he knew Pietro would be trying his damnedest to find him right now, bullet wound or no. He only hoped the idiot had the sense to call the others for help and maybe get some medical attention before trying to storm a Hydra base. Still, scared as he was for what was to come, it was a comfort to know Pietro would soon be coming for him.

He wondered for a moment whether that had been what Pietro was thinking before they had let him be tortured for two and a half months.

A door opened and a man came into the room, picking up a sharp and threatening-looking instrument before approaching Clint.

“Hello, Agent Barton,” the man said. “Are you ready for your punishment?”

 


	19. goddamn right, you should be scared of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter nineteen is from "Control" by Halsey

 

“This is taking too long.”

Pietro was pacing. He had been released from the infirmary less than an hour ago, but he was already more than ready to race off to wherever those Hydra bastards had taken Clint. He had to save him, as soon as possible. He couldn’t afford to waste time. Because he _knew_ they wouldn’t just torture Clint for weeks if the Avengers didn’t get there soon enough. No, they’d have a little bit of fun with him, for a couple of days at most. But then they’d kill him. Their window for saving Clint was minuscule, and Pietro was terrified they’d be too late.

“We’re going as fast as we can, kid,” said Tony.

“It’s not fast enough,” Pietro said.

“We’ll have our location within the next hour,” said Steve. “We’ve just got to narrow it down.”

“A lot can happen in an hour.”

“Pietro, it’s no use getting worked up like this,” said Wanda, taking his arm. “You just have to be patient.”

“I _can’t_ be patient!” Pietro said, pulling his arm away and resuming his pacing. “They’re torturing him _right now_ and we’re doing nothing!”

“Clint was just like this when they had you, you know,” said Natasha sadly. 

“I don’t blame him. Having to wait around for two months for answers...” Pietro said bitterly.

“Yeah, and you’ve only made it two hours,” said Tony.

“Don’t mess with me right now, Stark.”

Tony put up his hands in surrender.

“Not messing. Just observing.”

“Well, take your observations someplace else then.”

“Pietro, please,” said Wanda.

“I’ve got him,” Sam announced. “We got a plan?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving. Right now,” said Pietro.

“No,” said Steve.

“I’m not waiting any longer.”

“You were shot a few hours ago,” said Steve. “Also, we do kinda need at least half a plan.”

“Clint is being _tortured_ as we speak,” Pietro said. “I am _not_ going to let them hurt them like they hurt me. I’m not going to let them kill him. I’m leaving _now_ , even if I have to go alone.”

“Pietro, that’s a suicide mission,” said Sam.

“Do you think I care about that?” said Pietro. “I’d rather die trying to save him than let him die because I came too late. I am not abandoning him.”

The others stared at him, looking almost frightened. None of them had seen Pietro this angry before, not even Wanda, who had seen him in all his worst moods. His anger wasn’t loud, he barely even raised his voice. Instead it was like a fire, burning, smoldering just beneath the surface like molten lava; if he were set off, he would surely devastate everything in his path.

“Pietro, please,” Wanda said softly, taking his hand. “You won’t be doing Clint any favors if you get yourself killed. Please be rational about this. We need a plan.”

Pietro looked at her, not even bothering to hide the disappointment in his face. He had hoped that Wanda, his sister, would be on his side in this. 

“Fine. Make your damn plans,” he said.

Then he stormed out of the room.

 

***

 

This wasn’t Clint’s first time being tortured. It was, however, the first time he’d been tortured purely for the sake of torture and with the intent that he would eventually die from it. His tormenter spoke only to taunt him, to coax out the screams Clint was stubbornly trying to hold back. It wasn’t long before he broke and stopped trying to hide his pain. After a while, his screams grew hoarse and soon after they transformed into sobs and desperate pleas to be put out of his misery.

“Oh, I _will_ kill you, Agent Barton,” the man said. “But your punishment is still far from over.”

 

***

 

The team all felt a bit uncomfortable after Pietro’s outburst, but they knew that the best way to ensure a successful rescue mission was to form a plan, even a skeletal one. Wanda listened and gave her input but her mind was truly elsewhere. 

“Well, I think this is a good enough plan,” said Steve. “Now we’ve just got to figure out where Pietro’s sulking and put it in action. Wanda?”

He turned to her, and she knew he wanted her to reach out to her brother, but she couldn’t. She had been trying to for the last ten minutes.

“I can’t find him. He’s blocked me out,” Wanda said grimly.

“We pissed him off pretty bad, he probably just needed some time to cool off,” said Tony.

“Last time he blocked me out like this, he tried to kill himself,” said Wanda.

“Shit...” Steve muttered.

“He wouldn’t try that again now, not with Clint captured,” said Sam.

“No, but you _did_ refer to his threat of going there alone as a suicide mission,” said Steve, getting to his feet. “And he’s not known for being patient.”

“Shit,” Sam said.

They all got up and hurried from the room, hoping they weren’t too late. In the hall, they ran into Maria and Helen.

“Is everything okay?” Maria asked. “Have you found Barton?”

“Yeah, we did. Have either of you seen Pietro?” Steve asked.

“Not since I finished healing him,” said Helen.

“Dammit...”

“Is something wrong?” Helen asked.

“We pissed him off and now he’s gone to rescue Clint on his own,” said Tony.

“But that’s a suicide mission,” said Maria.

“That’s what I told him,” Sam said.

“That Hydra base is over a hundred miles away,” said Bruce. “Would he really just run the whole way?”

“Yes, he would,” said Wanda. “And he got a ten minute head start, so we’ll never catch up. We just have to get there before he gets himself killed.”

“Those two are the most dangerous couple I have ever met,” Tony mused. “You lay a finger on one of them and the other’s out for blood.”

 

***

 

Pietro knelt on his hands and knees about half a mile from the Hydra base, struggling to catch his breath. He had pushed his powers to the limit plenty of times before, but never like this. Over a hundred miles at full speed without stopping. He was a little surprised he was still conscious. His lungs ached and his throat burned, but he was impatient to get moving again. The longer he sat there, the closer Clint was to death.

As impatient as he was, it was several minutes before Pietro was recovered enough to go on. He was still a bit winded, but he forced himself to get to his feet and run the last stretch to the base. The door of the base was in sight, and Pietro felt a pang of foreboding – this was all so familiar, so much like the mission that had gotten him captured in the first place and started this whole mess. A little part of him almost wished he had stayed and waited for the rest of the team. But no. He couldn’t think like that. Clint needed him, and he wasn’t about to fail without even trying. 

There was a man on guard, but he would be easy enough to take care of. Pietro darted forward and punched the man in the face at full force, knocking him out instantly. Then he took the keys from the man’s belt and let himself in. He closed the door quietly behind him and turned around to find another Hydra agent staring at him in surprise. At first they just stood there frozen. Then the man lifted a walkie-talkie from his belt.

“We have a break-in on the northeast corridor, possible Aveng-”

Pietro collided with him before he could finish his sentence, knocking him out and smashing the walkie-talkie with one blow. 

“Shit...” he muttered in frustration.

Now Hydra would know he was here. Or at least that _someone_ was. There was no more time for standing around. He had to find Clint. Now. He took off, darting into several rooms along the way, hoping to find Clint in one of them. The corridors were quickly filling with agents preparing to take out the intruder, but Pietro just slipped between them. He knew they would see the silvery blue trail that always followed in his wake, but he would be far from their reach by the time they could lift a gun. 

He burst through another door and skidded to a halt. This room had not been deserted at the news of his presence like all the others had. There were still two people here. A man in a lab coat, and _Clint_. Pietro didn’t hesitate another moment. He flew into action, snatched a deadly-looking instrument from one of the tables, then grabbed the man by the back of his coat and drove the instrument into his neck. Pietro stabbed the man at such a high speed that the device pierced straight through his throat. Blood sputtered from the wound and the man let out a choked shout before crumpling to the floor. 

Pietro kicked the man’s body out of his way and hurried to Clint’s side, tearing away the leather straps that bound him to the torture table.

“Pietro,” Clint gasped, looking horrified. “Jesus Christ, what did you just do?”

“Saved your life. You can scold me for the violence later,” said Pietro. “Can you walk?”

“I dunno, my leg’s still got a bullet in it.”

“Okay, I’ll carry you. It’ll be faster anyway.”

Pietro scooped Clint up in his arms bridal style.

“Where are the others?” Clint asked.

“Probably on their way here and very pissed off at me,” said Pietro.

“You came here on your own?!”

“Again, you can scold me later.”

“I love you, you reckless idiot,” said Clint.

“I love you too, old man. Now hold on and brace yourself.”

Clint’s grip on him tightened and Pietro ran back out the door and down the hallway. Even with Clint’s weight slowing him down, it looked like they would make it out free and clear. Pietro rounded a corner and his heart sank. Up ahead, the emergency blast doors were sliding shut. It was all happening again, only this time Pietro had come to steal a much more precious cargo than some stupid box that none of them had seen or heard of since. Desperation kicked in, and he put on an extra burst of speed. His body was screaming at him for rest, but he couldn’t give in. Just a little farther....

“No!”

Pietro set Clint down before throwing himself at the heavy metal doors, as though that would have any effect on them.

“No! This is _not_ going to happen again, it _can’t_ happen again!” he cried, each sentence punctuated by another attempt at hurling his body through the doors. “I won’t go back there! We were so close. I’m not going to let myself get tortured again. I’m not going to watch them kill you. We are getting _out!_ ”

Pietro finally stopped, panting, his body aching more than ever. He could hear behind him the arrival of several boot-clad feet. He turned around. They were surrounded by about a dozen Hydra agents, all with their guns aimed at him and Clint. Pietro balled his hands into fists, a new dose of adrenaline pumping through him. People were much easier to knock down than metal doors. And he wasn’t about to get caught so easily. Not this time.

He rushed forward, knocking down three of the men and sending their guns flying. Bullets sped through the air toward him but he dodged most of them, using a fourth man to shield himself from the rest. He went to throw the man’s body on the ground, but instead the man turned to face him, very alive and very angry.

“How-?” Pietro glanced down at the man’s chest and the realization hit him. “A bulletproof vest? Seriously?”

The man grabbed Pietro by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. His head made contact with the concrete and he saw stars. He had barely shaken off the dizziness before the man threw him to the floor. The other eight agents trained their guns on him, keeping him down.

“Pietro!” Clint cried.

Pietro turned to look at him, fear in his eyes. He had been willing to die saving Clint, but they were so close to safety, it felt particularly cruel that he should be killed now. Clint was trying to get up, to get to him, but his injuries had made him unable to stand. They were both going to die, right on the threshold of freedom, and it just wasn’t fair.

Suddenly, the unmistakable groan of metal echoed down the corridor. All eyes turned to the blast doors, which were somehow opening, agonizingly slow at first, but then thrown wide suddenly with tremendous force. Standing in the doorway was Wanda, a look of fierce concentration on her face, her eyes glowing red. In the corridor behind her, the rest of the Avengers fought. Pietro stared as she stepped through the door and lifted her hands. The Hydra agents frantically turned their guns on her, but she was too quick for them. A wave of red light burst from her palms, ripping their guns from their hands and knocking them all unconscious. Pietro scrambled to his feet and ran over to her.

“Thanks for saving our asses,” he said with a little smile.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t run off here by yourself,” Wanda replied. “But you’re welcome. Now let’s go home.”

“I second that,” Clint chimed in. “But I’m gonna need a little help.”

Pietro went over to him and picked him up again, kissing his cheek.

“Shall I clear a path?” Wanda offered.

“That would be lovely,” said Pietro. “You ready, my damsel in distress?”

“You’re a little shit,” Clint said fondly.

“I know.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semi-pointless side comment, but when Tony makes the comment about Clint and Pietro being the most dangerous couple he's ever met, I imagine Nat and Sam are exchanging a look like "just wait until he sees Steve and Bucky together"....


	20. if all you wanted was me, i’d give you nothing less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for chapter twenty is from "Come Back When You Can" by Barcelona

The flight back to the SHIELD bunker was short, silent, and awkward. Clint sat with his head on Pietro’s shoulder, vaguely aware that the rest of the team was staring at them. He didn’t know why Pietro had run out on them to rescue Clint on his own, and none of the team knew why Pietro was covered in someone else’s blood, and Clint’s conclusion on the situation was that no one on the quinjet was really sure they wanted to know the story behind these things. If he was being honest with himself, Clint sort of wished he hadn’t had to see Pietro skewer that guy, but for now, he was too tired to dwell on it much. All that really mattered to him at the moment was that he was safe. Pietro had saved him and they were going home.

 

***

 

When they arrived at the bunker, Pietro carried Clint to the infirmary and left him to be cared for by Helen, who promised to notify Pietro the moment he was allowed to visit. Pietro gave Clint a kiss, then went to find out where his room in the bunker was. The room was small and rather bare – the only furniture was a bed, a wardrobe, and a single nightstand with a small metal lamp. Maria’s agents had brought his and Clint’s things from their Seattle apartment and left them on the bed. Pietro went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He turned and immediately caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the sink. 

It felt like he was staring at someone else. Sure, he still looked like himself, but what he was seeing didn’t match up with the person he had always believed himself to be. A spray of blood was splashed across his chest, flecks of it scattered over his face like freckles. He tore his eyes away from his reflection to look down at his hands; both were covered in blood, partly dried in places, but still a deep, sickening shade of scarlet. 

This wasn’t him. Okay so he’d killed someone before today, but this... this was different. It was a whole new level of violence. Shooting someone repeatedly in the face had been brutal, but it hadn’t drenched him in another man’s blood as this had. Pietro felt sick at the thought. He stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower, turning up the heat as hot as he dared. He winced as the scalding water hit his body and adjusted the temperature a little before grabbing a washcloth and desperately scrubbing the blood away.

When he had finished and dried off, he went back into the bedroom and dug out some clothes from his duffel bag. He got dressed, then went back out to wait to be allowed to visit Clint. Natasha was already sitting there, still in her Black Widow suit. Pietro sat a few seats away and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them. After a minute of silence, he glanced over to Natasha.

“So, how badly did I fuck up you guys’ rescue plan?” he asked.

Natasha shrugged.

“It was no big deal,” she said.

“I completely fucked it up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, kinda,” said Natasha. “But seriously, it’s no big deal. I mean, you definitely shouldn’t do it again, but... well, I get why you did. We all do.”

“Sorry,” Pietro said.

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“Yeah, _you_ think it’s fine, but do any of the others?”

“Look, if any of them try and give you shit about it, let me know,” said Natasha. “Because pretty much every single one of them would be acting hypocritical if they scolded you for running off on a reckless suicide mission to save someone you love.”

Pietro smiled a little.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “That’s part of why I was so angry, honestly. I just didn’t want to waste time by starting shit.”

“Smart move. Though you might’ve gotten Steve on your side if you brought it up.”

“Somehow it feels wrong to guilt trip Captain America.”

“You’ll get over that,” Natasha said, winking at him.

Pietro laughed. Just then, the door opened and Helen stepped out.

“You can come see him now,” she said.

Pietro stood up and turned to Natasha.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked.

“I’ll join you in a little while,” Natasha said. “I’ll give you two some privacy first.”

Pietro smiled at her, then followed Helen into the infirmary. He went to Clint’s bedside and leaned in to give him a kiss before sitting down.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Clint shrugged.

“I’ve definitely been better,” he said. “But it could’ve been a lot worse. So thanks.”

Pietro smiled and took his hand.

“It was no trouble.”

“Yeah it was, you nearly died,” said Clint.

“But I didn’t,” Pietro pointed out.

“Yeah, ‘cause your sister saved your ass.”

“But _I_ saved yours,” Pietro said, kissing him again.

“Yes, you did.”

They smiled at each other, but those smiles soon faded. They both knew the cheerful teasing was only a distraction so they wouldn’t have to face grimmer truths. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Pietro asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just need a little recovery time is all,” said Clint. “What about you, are you gonna be okay?”

“I wasn’t just tortured.”

“No, but you did just kill a man. Pretty gruesomely, I might add.”

Pietro looked down, avoiding Clint’s gaze. 

“I could say I did what I had to, but I know that would be a lie,” he said quietly. “I didn’t have to kill him. But I did. I didn’t even think about it. I just... he was hurting you and I was upset and angry and... well, you know me, I’m an impulsive idiot.... I just never thought that would lead me to murder... twice.... it’s scary how easy it was...”

Clint lifted Pietro’s chin so he could look him in the eyes.

“In the right circumstances... killing _is_ easy. Especially when you’re doing it for someone you love,” he said. “I pretty much became a serial killer for the exact same reason you killed that guy, so I can relate. And yeah, it’s scary, ‘cause we’re Avengers, we’re supposed to be the good guys... but good guys screw up sometimes. Sometimes we screw up a lot.”

“I’m that second kind of good guy,” Pietro said.

“So am I,” said Clint. “We’re the screw ups. The ones with bad tempers and worse coping methods. The ones who do stupid, reckless shit because we care too much about others and not enough about ourselves. But y’know what? We’re still the good guys. We’re still Avengers. And we’re definitely not alone. We’re surrounded by screw ups every day of our lives, and they’ve managed to become some of the greatest heroes I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

“So you’re saying I could become the next Iron Man?” Pietro said with a smirk.

“Hell no,” said Clint. “You’re gonna be Quicksilver, the super cool, super sexy superhero that everyone wants to be like because you’ve saved the world so many times.”

“I’ve got a lot of work cut out for me,” said Pietro. “Mostly I’ve just been saving your pretty ass. The whole world is a bit harder to save.”

“Well, you won’t have to do it alone,” said Clint. “You’ll have your awesome superhero boyfriend with the pretty ass by your side the whole time.”

Pietro grinned.

“Quicksilver and Hawkeye, the world’s next great super-duo. Saving the world by shooting things with an ancient weapon and running really fast.”

“The world is fucked.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my friend, Psychelockethe2nd (formerly Avengerslover624) on fanfiction.net, for giving me the idea for this fic and helping me workshop it :)
> 
> And thanks to all of you for reading and leaving kudos and all your lovely comments. I hope you've all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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